


When Eagles are Silent

by owlways_and_forever



Category: Doctor Who, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adoption, Allergic reaction, Allergies, Alternate Universe - Doctor Who Fusion, Ancient Egypt, Basketball, Chronicles of Narnia Crossover, Chronicles of Narnia References, Cinderella - Freeform, Comedy, Corruption, Crepes, Cursebreaker, Daily Prophet, Doctor Who Crossover, Doctor Who References, Durmstrang, Egypt, Family Bonding, Family Reunions, First Kiss, Game Shows, Graduation, Grocery Shopping, Grocery Store, Heartbreak, Hogwarts Founders Era, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Hogwarts Library, Hurt/Comfort, Journalism, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Marauders, Marauders era, Newpaper, News Media, Parallel Universes, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Post-War, Pregnancy, Propaganda, References to the Beatles, Repentance, Rumors, Rumours, Study Date, Studying, The Book Thief Narrative Style, The Book Thief References, Time Travel, Triwizard Tournament, Unicorns, Unplanned Pregnancy, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, Weddings, Yule Ball (Harry Potter), across the universe, adopted!sirius au, birthday angst, hogwarts graduation, newsroom, rumoured relationship, taskmaster au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2019-10-26 23:44:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 38,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17755775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlways_and_forever/pseuds/owlways_and_forever
Summary: This is gonna be a collection of unrelated one-shots posted for the Houses Competition/Hogwarts School Challenge, which are happening over on FFnet.Year 5:A Furry Little Problem won Round 2 Judges' Pick!!My Friends, My Friends Forgive Me won Round 4 Judges' Pick!!Year 4:A Matter of Influence won Round 2 Judges' Pick!!The Lost Labyrinth won Round 3 Judges' Pick!!Family News won Round 4 Judges' Pick!!Rain Delay won Round 6 Judges' Pick!!The Paradox Echo won Round 8 Judges' Pick!!





	1. Making Amends

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, here we go. I'm going to try to remember to update the tags as I post new pieces, but right now my sinus-infection-befuddled mind just wants to get this up so I can go take a nap, so not much in the way of notes today.
> 
> Round: 1  
> Theme: Self-Discovery  
> Type: Drabble (200-950 words)  
> Prompt: "Does your mother/father know what you've been up to?"
> 
> Summary: Post war, a Draco struggling to find his place looks to Professor McGonagall for advice.

After the war, Draco found his conscience itching constantly, niggling at his mind in the background of every thought, every moment of the day. Guilt for what he had done, for what he had failed to do, ate at him, gnawing him to the bone, and refused to release him or give him a moment’s peace. He’d volunteered to help restore the castle, but it hadn’t been enough. The castle was only the physical manifestation of the damage that had been wrought,  the emotional scars, however, ran much deeper.

There were only so many people that Draco felt he could talk to, or ask for advice. Few trusted him, and even fewer liked him these days - a real departure from his school days. Or maybe it wasn’t and his  _ friends  _ had only ever followed him for his name and his family’s power.

Draco spent the summer searching for some way to ease his guilt. No, not ease it. He  _ deserved _ to be guilty, to feel the weight of his actions for all eternity. But he could make reparations for his actions, make the world a better place. He could try, at least. It was harder than he thought, which was why Draco found himself standing outside the Headmistress’ office early in November. 

It was cold and damp, as November so often was. He’d gotten rather wet during the walk from Hogsmeade, so his blond hair was stuck to his forehead. He was thinner than he’d ever been before in his life and more ragged than the horrible years under Voldemort’s thumb. No one wanted to hire an ex-Death Eater, and he’d split from his family—or at least from the wealth and influence of his father.

He muttered the password, and the gargoyle sprung to life, stepping aside as the staircase wound upward. Upon reaching the top, Draco knocked lightly against the ornate wooden door. It swung open of its own accord, and he stepped inside. Professor McGonagall sat at her heavy mahogany desk, so different from Dumbledore’s, as she thumbed through a newspaper, barely glancing up at him.

“Please, have a seat,” she said as Draco drew closer and obligingly, he planted himself in the armchair opposite her. 

They were quiet for a few minutes as she finished reading her article, before neatly folding the paper and setting it aside. 

“Mr Malfoy, what can I do for you?” she asked curtly, though not quite rudely.

“You know that I regret… everything,” Draco said, fidgeting a little. “And I’ve been trying to do things... to help fix what happened.”

“I do,” she said, softening a bit.

“But so far… it’s all just stuff, not… not helping actual people,” he said, trying to convey his emotions, but feeling somewhat short on words. 

“Sometimes, we must heal our bodies before we can begin to heal our minds,” Professor McGonagall answered, her eyes clouding as she looked off into the distance, not seeing him, or any of the room in front of her.

“You sound like Dumbledore,” he said, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“Yes, a bit too much for my liking actually,” she smiled, her eyes wrinkling. She always had been much more direct than her mentor. “Still, there’s something there.”

“I feel like it’s time to take the next step,” Draco said. “I _ need _ to do more.”

Professor McGonagall nodded, seeming to understand how he felt, and she began rifling through her desk drawers. He sat quietly, wondering what she was looking for, until with a small ‘aha’, she extracted a folder from one of the lower drawers, and set it down on top of the desk. It had ‘Phoenix’ written in big letters across the cover.

“Over the summer, I began an organization for those who were left behind by the war,” she began to explain. “There are two homes - one for wizarding children who were orphaned, and one for muggle kids. Ideally, the two would be together, but I couldn’t do it without breaking the International Statute of Secrecy. There’s also a counseling center for adults struggling to cope with the aftermath, and they do some visits to the homes as well.”

Draco wasn’t sure what to say. It sounded like a brilliant organization, but he wasn’t sure why she was telling him about it. He certainly wasn’t a qualified counselor of any kind. And he’s not sure that the wizarding world would accept him working with their orphaned children in any way.

“The director of the muggle children’s home has just given me her notice, so I need to find a replacement,” Professor McGonagall continued. “I think you might be a good fit for the position.”

“I don’t know about that,” Draco said, trying  _ very _ hard not to wrinkle his nose at the idea of snotty little children running around. 

“Mr Malfoy, I think you would be surprised how much you come to care about children under your protection,” she answered. “In any case, I believe the position would be good for you, as well as for the children. Here is the address, if you report there tomorrow, Sonya will begin instructing you in what needs to be done so you can be fully prepared when you take over the position next month.”

“Right,” Draco answered, sensing that he had very little say in this. But then, perhaps he wasn’t meant to enjoy making amends.

“Draco, does your father know what you’ve been up to?” Professor McGonagall asked, raising an eyebrow curiously.

“Wait till he hears about this,” Draco scoffed, echoing the words he had said so many times. “No - can you imagine? He’d be horrified. But that’s really why it  _ needs  _ to be done.”


	2. Father Figure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round: 1  
> Theme: Self-Discovery  
> Type: Standard (950-2000 words)  
> Prompt: Meeting long lost family member
> 
> No notes, just enjoy!

A knock on the door surprised Dean early one morning. He, Harry and Ron were renting a small townhouse in London, since they had always cohabitated reasonably well at Hogwarts, and all three of them had significant others that they weren't quite ready to live with yet (they were only 18, after all). Somehow, Dean had drawn the short straw, and gotten the bedroom on the lower floor, which meant that while  _he_ could hear the present pounding on their front door, Harry and Ron were probably still blissfully asleep.

With a deep groan, Dean pushed himself out of bed, stretching and cracking his joints as he stood, his fingertips grazing the ceiling. He rubbed at the back of his neck as he padded downstairs barefoot, somewhat sore from sleeping in a weird position all night. He still had so many aches and pains from his year on the run, new quirks of his body that he thought might never go away. It was another benefit to living with Harry and Ron - they understood some of the... _aftereffects_  that year had left them with. Their house was full of plain food, and they'd made very sure that there was a bathroom for each of them, plus a downstairs half-bath for guests.

Dean scrubbed his hand across his face, feeling the stubble that graced his chin. He really needed to shave today. Sighing, he undid the deadbolts on their door, waving his wand to disengage the enchantments protecting them (they all slept better at night with extra precautions), and threw open the door.

On the other side of their threshold stood a man who looked so much like Dean that he couldn't help but gasp in surprise. It was like a spell was showing him exactly what he would look like thirty years from now, some kind of weird mirror reflecting the future. The same long neck, the same thin, pointed nose (maybe a little more flared than his own at the base). His features were a bit sharper, jaw more pronounced, and his lips a touch fuller, but the differences were subtle.

"I'm looking for Dean Thomas," the man said when Dean didn't say anything, although Dean had assumed as much - it would have been a hell of a coincidence otherwise.

"Yeah, that's me," Dean answered once he got his vocal chords working again. "Who the hell are you?"

(He had a guess.)

"My name is Adrian Wells, and… I… was wondering if we could get some coffee?" he asked, looking a little bit nervous and almost disappointed in himself.

"Sure…" Dean answered, feeling very suspicious, and a bit overwhelmed. "Gimme a mo'."

He rushed back up the stairs to his bedroom, throwing on clothes as quickly as possible. Dean honestly had no idea how he felt. He didn't know for sure, but he had a pretty good idea who the stranger might be, and if he was correct, well, then he had a lot of feelings indeed. Anger, mostly. But Dean, ever sensible, determined to at least hear the man out, willing to concede that he could, conceivably, be wrong. He hurried back down the stairs again, grabbing his denim jacket from its hook in the hallway, and closing the door behind him, flicking his wand to reinstate all their protective enchantments.

"You keep the place very secure," Wells remarked, nodding toward the front door absently, as if just to make small talk.

"Yeah, well, being kidnapped and tortured in the middle of a war will do that to you," Dean replied, a bit gruffer than was strictly necessary, perhaps.

"I can understand that," he said, quietly and directed mostly at the ground.

"There's a little cafe just a few blocks over that has good coffee," Dean said after a long moment, and he set off in the right direction, not turning to see if Wells was following him or not.

They walked in silence for the three blocks until they reached the cafe that Dean had spoken of, a little muggle place, very quiet and quaint. They ordered their coffees, Wells offering to pay, although Dean declined, and then sat at a table. It was fairly awkward. Dean wasn't sure what to say and really felt that it wasn't his job to say anything. The man had sought him out, and now it was time to share why. But across from him, Wells sat fidgeting with his coffee and barely taking a sip. He seemed nervous, which Dean could understand, but also agitated and uncomfortable.

"I'd like to tell you the whole story," Wells said at last. "Start to finish, and then you can ask me any questions you want. It's… it's easier if I just get it out in one go."

"Fine," Dean agreed, motioning with his hand for the man to begin whenever he was ready.

"I knew that I would be targeted in the first war," he began, with a deep sigh. He suddenly seemed much older, more haggard, than he had when he stood on their doorstep. "I was young then, but I was skilled, and I would have been a rather valuable… acquisition. For the Death Eaters. But I had a girlfriend, fiancee I suppose, and she was expecting a baby, and in those days… when the Death Eaters came, they took what was valuable,  _who_  was valuable, and they destroyed everything else."

"So you ran away?" Dean hissed, unable to keep himself from interrupting. He was right - this man was a coward, and deserved nothing from him.

"No, well, not exactly," Wells stammered, shrinking back from Dean's anger. "I knew they would come, and I wanted to protect my family as much as possible. I delayed getting married, I told Mabel to give the baby her name. That way, if I had to leave, they might still be safe.  _You_  might be safe. I didn't intend to leave, I didn't want to, but I wanted to make sure that if it came time, that I could keep my family as safe as possible."

He dragged his hands across his face, echoing Dean's motion from earlier this morning and giving him a weird sense of deja vu.

"But then it wasn't just the Death Eaters looking for me anymore, it was Vol -  _him_. And I knew I couldn't stay." Wells shook his head, and he looked like he wanted to pull his hair out, like he was having to make the decision to stay or leave all over again. "I couldn't tell Mabel, she didn't know about the war, and she would have insisted that we could weather the storm. She was always so brave. I intended to go into hiding but… he had so many men. They were everywhere, all around the world. They found me in Spain, trying to get to Morocco. I was kept, locked up and tortured, as they tried to get some use out of me. And then he fell, and the war ended. They had to get rid of me somehow, couldn't have me waltzing back into London and informing the Ministry about all of them. I was sent, wholly unwillingly, to Egypt first, then Belarus, then Pakistan."

Dean felt all the anger seeping out of him as he listened to his father's story. Maybe not all the anger; Wells had still left them. But it had been for a good reason, he supposed, not just because he was a deadbeat like Dean had always assumed. And, in a sense, he had been right to go - Dean and his mother had been safe, had been happy. He supposed he'd made the exact same choice when he'd gone on the run, to save his own life and to get as far from his family as possible, so they could be okay.

"I'm sorry Dean, I don't think I can talk about what happened, but it was…"

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me," Dean answered kindly, reaching out and laying his hand across his father's, giving it a small squeeze.

"I found myself entirely free," his father continued, smiling gratefully as he skipped over the years in between, "about two years ago. And as much as I wanted to come back, I couldn't."

"Because Voldemort was back by then," Dean stated, thinking he understood his father, the fear that if he returned to England again, he would only be going through the same tribulation once more. He couldn't fault his father for that.

"Yes, but also…" He seemed to struggle to find the right words, shaking his head and knotting his fingers in his hair, a pained expression on his face. "I was a broken man after everything, I wasn't fit to be around people at all, much less to meet you for the very first time. I imagine you grew up thinking me to be the worst kind of father, but if you had seen me in those days, I would have surpassed everything you could have ever imagined. Trust me, there are much worse things a father can do than leave."

"I know," Dean said, thinking of Claire Foley, who always showed up at the castle with bruises up and down her arms, but never seemed to acquire any when she was on her own at school.

His father nodded, but, his tale now being complete, he seemed unsure of what else to say. Dean supposed it was his turn to take a step, either forward or back, and he tried to gauge how he felt quickly, to know which direction to go.

"This is pretty complicated," he sighed, scratching through his scruff with his fingertips. "Mum moved on, eventually, and I had a dad - I  _have_  a dad. Sisters as well. But I understand what you did, and why you did it. I'd like to get to know you better, over time, and see what kind of relationship we might be able to have."

His father's eyes lit up at his words, and it made Dean smile to see the happiness he had brought. He had no idea how all of this would work out, but he was willing to give things a try.

"I dunno about Mum though, she won't be happy," Dean continued, sobering up after a long moment of idle grins.

"That's okay, I don't expect her to forgive me," Wells answered, trying to shrug off Dean's words as nonchalantly as possible. "But you, my  _son_ … I had to try with you, I couldn't live with myself if I didn't."

Dean nodded and glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised to see that so much time had passed.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to spoil the moment," Dean said, pushing back his chair a little, "but I do have to work today, unfortunately. But maybe we can do lunch on Saturday? I don't think Seamus and I have plans."

"Who's Seamus?" his father inquired, looking lost.

"Sorry, he's my boyfriend," Dean explained, smiling just at the thought of his partner.

"Maybe I'll get to meet him too, in due time, of course," Wells answered, his smile a mirror of his son's. "But yes, lunch on Saturday would be nice."

"Right, excellent," Dean said as he stood, and his father stood with him.

"Dean?" he asked tentatively. "Could I… could I perhaps give you a hug?"

"Yeah, okay."

Dean allowed his father to wrap his arms around him, and returned the motion, resting his chin on the other man's shoulder. Something about it felt right, as if a last bit of himself clicked into place. There was a ways to go before they even really knew each other, but it was a start. His  _father_. He shook his head incredulously as he set off through the London streets, making his way to the studio where he worked. His father was alive, he was  _here_.


	3. In Plain Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I ended up not submitting this for the challenge because it was over the word count, but I wrote it anyway, so I figured I'd still share it. Prompt was shopping at a muggle grocery store. Enjoy!

Ginny slammed the door of their apartment as she got back home, beyond frustrated and positively fuming.

“Stupid bloody photographers and their buggering assignments from Rita,” she seethed, heading for the pantry and pulling a gingerale off the shelf, quickly casting a charm to chill it. 

“What happened?” Harry asked, making Ginny jump, swearing in her surprise.

“Merlin, Harry, trying to give me a heart attack?” she pouted, expression serious.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine, I just hate Rita Skeeter, that’s all,” Ginny answered, taking a long sip from her gingerale.

Harry gave her a look that said  _ obviously _ , as they both took a seat on the sofa, but then he poked her thigh with his toes to prompt her to continue her story.

“It’s just, sometimes I really hate being famous,” Ginny sighed, rubbing her small belly absentmindedly. “I have no idea how she found out about the baby, and honestly I don’t really care. We both knew it was a matter of time. But since then, it’s like all she does is try to get photos of me looking as unattractive and whale-like as possible.”

“That’d be impressive, since you’re both beautiful and look nothing like a whale,” Harry said gently, and Ginny groaned at how cheesy it was. 

“That’s sweet, but not true, and also not really the point,” she replied. “I just wish I could go to the market all sweaty from practice without people taking pictures of me.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have become the best quidditch player in all of Britain then,” Harry teased, knowing full well that it was not the answer at all.

“Or maybe I shouldn’t have married you,” Ginny teased back, sticking her tongue out at him.

Harry thought about the conundrum for a few moments, trying to figure out how he could make things better for his wife. An idea occurred to him, and he mulled it over for a few minutes, before proposing it to Ginny.

* * * * *

The next Saturday, Harry and Ginny bundled up in their winter coats before Harry apparated them to a hidden little alleyway. It made him very nervous to apparate with Ginny ( _ oh god, what if he splinched the baby?) _ , but it was the best way to get out of the house without being followed, and the healer had said that it was fine until later in the pregnancy. Together, they walked around through the alley and a few blocks down the street of some muggle town outside of London, until they reached a big building with a large parking lot full of cars. Ginny squeezed Harry’s arm as they walked through the lot and toward the wide glass doors. She watched as they slid open in anticipation of the people ahead of them, and paused in her step, giving Harry an apprehensive look. The last thing she wanted was to be somewhere full of wizards.

“It’s not magic,” Harry told her pointing at the little black knobs over the doors. “They have motion sensors, so when someone gets close, they open automatically. It’s just technology.”

She didn’t really understand that, but she trusted Harry, and if he said it wasn’t magic, she believed him. Besides, she had never seen anything like this is the wizarding world. The moment they passed through the doors, Ginny was overwhelmed. There were aisles upon aisles, reaching up into the ceiling like some kind of library of food, and people crowded between them, all carrying baskets or pushing little trolleys. Harry grabbed one for them and pushed it towards one end of the store, Ginny following behind with wide eyes.

“So we’ll start with fruits and vegetables on this end, just grab whatever you fancy and toss it into the trolley,” Harry instructed, and Ginny perused the fresh foods, selecting anything that looked good or made her mouth water.

Once they had completed their tour of the fruits and vegetables, Harry showed Ginny the other aisles. Some of them held things that they didn’t need, but Harry pointed them out anyway, just in case something struck her fancy. The whole time they walked, not a single person pointed at them, or tried to take a picture of them, or came up to Ginny trying to pry details about their relationship and burgeoning family. She relaxed the longer they were there, casually rubbing her belly and trying to gauge what the baby might be craving. It was the most satisfying shopping experience Ginny thought she’d ever had. 

When they were finished, Harry pulled out a wad of muggle money and paid for the frankly massive amount of food they’d gotten. They meandered their way back to the little alleyway, and then apparated back to the foyer of their townhouse. Harry put away the groceries while Ginny sat on the couch, munching on some granola they had gotten, happy and relaxed.

“I can’t believe muggles shop like that,” Ginny mused as Harry hummed from the kitchen. “We never had anything like that, all that food, all the different snacks and things. How do they even come up with all that?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, only half paying attention.

“Well, we grew most of our food,” she answered with a shrug. “Pretty much all wizards do. And there are markets to get what you can’t, or don’t, grow, but they’re just small things. Little individual stalls really where someone will have meat and another person will have greens and all that. But we had to cook  _ everything _ , there were no bags of pretzels anywhere or frozen dinners or anything like that.”

“You mean you didn’t shop for food at all?” Harry clarified, paying closer attention now.

“Not really,” Ginny shrugged. “We grew fruits and vegetables and we had the chickens, and we had a milk subscription from the Shafiq family, and mum would get some meat from the weekend market when we needed it.”

“But what about sweets and crisps and all that?” Harry asked, incredulous.

“Sometimes dad would bring sweets home if he’d been to Diagon Alley, or investigating something near Hogsmeade, but for the most part, we just didn’t have anything mum didn’t make,” Ginny said. She had never thought it was anything other than normal. “I liked not being recognized today though.”

Harry hummed once more as he joined his wife on the couch, sliding beneath her knees and absentmindedly massaging her calves.

“I think I might have to go there more often, just to get away from it all,” she admitted, settling back into the pillows with a relaxed smile.

“Not for the mint chip ice cream,” Harry teased, thinking of the three cartons of Ginny’s favourite flavour that were now taking up most of the room in their ice box, and Ginny laughed, her smile becoming more mischievous.

“Definitely not for the mint chip ice cream.”

 


	4. A Matter of Influence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hahahaha can you tell how much I love basketball? Hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Round: 2  
> Theme: Muggles, Friend or Foe?  
> Type: Drabble (200-950 words)  
> Prompt: Attending a muggle basketball game as a witch/wizard
> 
> Summary: Harry uses his fame to secure tickets to a high profile basketball game (the first he's ever seen in person.
> 
> ** Round 2 Judges' Pick Winner!**

Harry didn’t know much about basketball. Games were on TV occasionally, especially championships, but it was always late at night. Sometimes he would get home late from work, mind buzzing, and he’d watch whatever game happened to be on, inevitably falling asleep on the couch. But he learned a few things. He’d heard a lot about Emeka Okafor, who would likely lead Connecticut to another national title. Then there was North Carolina’s new head coach, Roy Williams, and whether he would be able to lead his team to a winning record. But most of the buzz was around two players from Duke University - junior JJ Redick, a love-or-hate-him kinda guy, and a kid named Luol Deng. Harry found Deng’s story fascinating - his family had fled South Sudan for Egypt and eventually London before his family sent him to New Jersey to pursue basketball. Now, he was playing for one of the best coaches in the world. Harry couldn’t help but root for Duke because of Deng, and when January rolled around, he began sniffing around to see if there was some way he could see Deng play in person.

Generally, Harry shunned his celebrity status. Over the years, he’d become skilled at avoiding photographers, giving crack interviews that were unusable (except to Rita Skeeter, who would publish anything), and trying to live a normal life. But Harry knew that his war efforts afforded him certain privileges, and he wasn’t above using them to get the occasional thing he wanted (including a fancy flying car for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley). So he didn’t feel at all bad approaching Kingsley to see if he could get tickets to a Duke game. Kingsley didn’t mind in the slightest - he never did - and said he would reach out to the Muggle Prime Minister. Harry had almost forgotten about it in the weeks that passed, until Kingsley approached him late one night, holding out two shining paper tickets marked “Duke v UNC, March 6, 2004. VIP”.

Harry had grinned excitedly and hugged Kingsley, before apparating directly to Ron’s apartment. He probably should have asked Ginny to accompany him, but Ron would never forgive him, and besides, he missed spending time with his best friend. It took them some time to make it to the United States, where Kingsley arranged for Harry to be escorted to the game by MACUSA staff under the pretense of being an Olympic footballer. It was beautiful in North Carolina, in a very different way to the English countryside - more forests, trees and mountains, not rolling hills and waving wheat fields. 

They arrived at Cameron Indoor Stadium and were granted access to meet Coach K and have an informal chat with the team. Harry thought he was going to pass out from excitement when he spoke to Deng.

Before long, they were ushered to their seats, sitting right next to Duke’s bench. Harry watched in delight and Ron in fascination as the players warmed up mere inches from them. The crowd around them was absolutely  _ bonkers _ , even crazier than the Quidditch World Cup, chanting taunts and dancing to songs that blared through the speakers. He knew this game was unique, often called the best rivalry in sports. The stakes were high and blood would be boiling from the start. When Coach K finally took his place on the court, the masses of students began bowing down to him, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh.

“Think I could’ve gotten everyone to do that for me sixth year?” Ron asked jovially, and perhaps a bit enviously. “I was King after all…”

“Don’t push your luck, mate,” Harry teased, elbowing his friend in the ribs. 

The buzzer sounded and the teams lined up to welcome the starters, applauded with a fanfare of cheers. Harry was pleased to see that both Deng and Redick would be starting, and excitement began to bubble in his stomach. The game tipped off, and Harry and Ron both leaned forward, completely transfixed.

There was something very different about basketball, which Harry was only realizing as the game unfolded around him. Inherently physical in a way that quidditch was not, the players seemed to throw their bodies into the game with reckless abandon. He watched as Redick launched himself into the air for a basket, falling hard on the ground before getting up and shaking it all off, unfazed. How he didn’t end each game in searing agony, Harry couldn’t understand. And then there was Deng, colliding with person after person as they tried to stop him from reaching the basket to no avail. Harry could feel every foul, every fall, vibrate along the court and into his bones.

“Merlin’s pants, this is exciting!” Ron beamed, his eyes tracking the players down the court. 

He was right, basketball was exhilarating. That everything might come down to one ball, to making one basket, was completely thrilling. Duke snatched a victory, and Redick celebrated sinking the final baskets of the game, while Deng grinned with excitement as his teammates hugged each other. 

Harry and Ron filed out of the stadium with everyone else, allowing themselves to be swept along in the tide of students heading for a quad so familiar, it might have been at Hogwarts. There, standing in the middle of the grass, were two enormous wooden benches, set on fire as students cheered around them. Sparks flew into the sky, and Ron and Harry looked at each other with huge grins.

Harry would definitely be using his connections to come back.

 


	5. Master of the Blush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round: 2  
> Theme: Muggles, Friend or Foe?  
> Type: Standard (950-2000 words)  
> Prompt: "How come we have to do it this way?"
> 
> No notes, just enjoy!

“Welcome back to Taskmaster! Let’s get cracking with part four!” Albus announced, perched atop his golden throne. “Severus, can we have a score update, please?”

“As you like,” he answered, completely deadpan. Somehow, he looked incredibly foolish sitting upon his tiny golden chair, dwarfed by Albus’ magnificent setup. “Tied for joint last place with eight points, we have the dunce duo, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley! Happily or not, ahead of her brother, but only by two points, we have Ginny Weasley! And currently in first place, we have the logical lioness, Miss Hermione Granger!”

“And do we have another task for these lovely folks?” Albus asked, sounding like some sort of evil puppet master ready to make his minions dance.

“We certainly do,” Severus sneered, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Let’s take a look.”

The Taskmaster theme song played, snippets of Albus and Severus dancing by on the screen behind them. A moment later, it ended, and the camera cut to the Taskmaster house and the little lab within. A pale, blond-haired man sat at the table, sour expression on his face, and an envelope rested atop the cool metal surface, waiting to be opened.

* * * * *

Ginny marched into the room, nearly tearing down the plastic curtains around the lab, snatching up the envelope and hopping up onto the table.

“Make the Slytherin person blush,” she read aloud, swinging her feet slightly. “You have five minutes. Your time starts now.”

She sat and considered for a moment, her head cocked to the side as she thought, but it wasn’t long before Ginny had formed a plan of attack.

“Right, could you please flip yourself upside down on the chair?” she asked the stranger, motioning with her hands to demonstrate what she wanted. “Legs up over the back and head hanging down.”

Ginny swung her feet idly, watching the time tick by on the clock. From within her jacket, she pulled out a little bag filled with nuts, and began snacking on them happily.

Severus blew the whistle when five minutes had passed, and the man in the chair righted himself, an immense sense of relief crossing his scarlet visage.

Ginny flashed Severus a thumbs up, saluting to the stranger before promptly exiting the lab, grinning with success.

* * * * *

Hermione tentatively pushed aside the plastic sheets, peering through. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the blond man and the envelope, but she ignored him for the moment and snatched up the envelope, her eyes scanning back and forth rapidly.

“Out loud, please,” Severus said from somewhere off camera.

“Make the Slytherin person blush,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You have five minutes. Your time starts now.”

She thought quietly for a few seconds, pulling her mass of curls back into a loose bun. Chewing on her lip, she considered her instructions, and the various approaches she could take.

“Can I touch him?” she asked Severus, raising an eyebrow.

“Um, yes, I think so,” he answered, watching to see what Hermione would do.

“Right,” she said, rolling up her sleeves.

With a resounding _slap_ , she struck the man across his creamy cheek, his head jolting to one side, and shock briefly registered in his grey eyes. Hermione stepped back a bit to examine her handiwork, before leaning in again and smacking across his opposite cheek. His eyes closed a little bit, and anyone watching very closely might have seen the tiniest of winces escape him. Once more, Hermione backed away, examining his cheeks and smiling in satisfaction at the pink tinge colouring his pale skin.

“You still have two minutes and twenty nine seconds left,” Severus informed her, his eyebrows raised at Hermione’s chosen method.

“Excellent,” Hermione whispered to herself, rubbing her hands together quickly. It seemed cruel to slap the poor man again, and it had gotten his colour up rather a lot, so she reckoned she could change tactics a bit. Carefully, she leaned over his lap, her breath wafting warm over his face, and she reached up to pinch his cheeks. She moved across the skin, grabbing and pinching over and over again, maintaining eye contact with the man as she did. It was a bit strange, weirdly intimate, and Hermione found the colour rising in her own cheeks as she stood there, staring into this man’s eyes.

“Okay, that’s time,” Severus said, blowing his whistle in the closest thing to glee the man could feel.

“Right, thanks then,” she said, nodding both to Severus and the man before exiting the lab hurriedly.

* * * * *

Harry stepped through the plastic sheets, not bothering to hold them aside, the plastic slapping against his skin and rustling his hair into an even messier state. He looked confusedly at the man, pausing before picking up the envelope.

“Make the Slytherin person blush,” Harry read aloud, staring at the man seated in front of him. “You have five minutes. Your time starts _now_.”

“Merlin, alright then,” Harry swore, and as usual, he just began to act without thinking, the blood positively racing through his body, and somehow _none of it_ going to his brain. “Have you got a name?”

“Draco,” the man said, in a stiff accent.

“Well, nice to meet you, Draco,” Harry answered as he stripped his shirt off, ripping several buttons in the process. He tried to make it as seductive as possible, shimmying the sleeves down his arms and eventually tossing it to the other side of the room. He saw a slight pink in Draco’s cheeks, which only encouraged him on his path. Harry turned around and stepped backward, so that he was standing just in front of Draco, and then he began swaying his hips so that his backside moved alluringly (or at least as alluringly as he could manage) in front of Draco’s eyes. Harry was sure this was probably the least sexy thing in the world, but hopefully the combination of trying to be sexy and actually being awkward would be enough to win him the task.

He kept doing his little strip tease until Severus blew his whistle, and by the end of his, Harry could feel that his own face was red, and he hoped Draco’s was as well. He turned to see how he’d done, and found Draco glowing, trying very hard not to laugh.

“Well, thanks man, it’s been an absolute treat,” Harry said, collecting his clothes from where he had discarded them.

Draco gave him a nod of recognition, and Harry ducked out of the room, pleased with how he had done on this task.

* * * * *

Ron pushed aside the plastic curtain, only giving the man in the chair a cursory glance as he proceeded straight for the envelope on the table.

“Make the Slytherin person blush. You must keep your hands behind your back at all times,” Ron read, pausing to look over at the man. “How come we have to do it this way?”

“What do you mean?” Severus responded, his expression as blank as ever.

“I mean why’ve we got to do the whole hands thing?” Ron asked, always trying to push the boundaries of the task.

“That’s what the rules say,” Severus stated simply, offering absolutely no type of explanation at all.

“Fine, fine, but for the record, bugger the bloody rules,” Ron said, as he turned his attention back to the task at hand, and clasping his hands behind his back.

“You need to read the last line,” Severus interjected, almost sounding like he derived some glee from annoying Ron.

“Oh sod off,” Ron swore, knowing what the line would say without even looking at the paper. “Your time starts now.”

Ron reckoned that the best way to get under this guy’s skin would be to invade his personal space. He looked like the stuck-up sort, so Ron was betting that he wouldn’t be a fan of getting up close and personal with a stranger. But how to do it without his hands? An idea occurred to him, and he went for it. Ron leaned over, breathing hot air across the man’s neck and he could see the small hairs on the back of his neck rise. He reached out with his tongue, caressing the shell of the man’s ear, before sucking on his earlobe. Ron was running out of ideas, and he thought he had to do something at least a little bit different for the remainder of his time.

“You’re quite an attractive man, aren’t you?” Ron whispered, close enough to the man that his nose was brushing against him. The man tried to stifle a laugh, his shoulders shaking just a bit. “Really nice… lovely… lovely jawline, very nice and sharp.”

Ron ran the tip of his nose slowly over the man’s jaw, staring into his grey eyes then entire time. Severus blew the whistle, the sound bouncing lightly as he laughed into it. Ron backed away from the stranger slamming his hand down on the table victoriously.

“Bam! Suck it!” he exclaimed, marching from the room without a backwards glance.

* * * * *

As they sat and watched back the footage, Ron began shaking his head, anger bubbling up and boiling within him.

“Are you shitting me?” he swore, as the others all struggled to contain their laughter. “I was the only one who had to do the bloody hands?”

Albus looked positively tickled at Ron’s outrage, and even Severus couldn’t keep the glee from brightening his eyes.

“I better get bonus points for that,” Ron muttered, seething.

“Oooh, I dunno about that,” Albus squeaked, considering the contestant in front of him. “What do you think, Sev?”

“Well, I mean, technically he only did what the task asked him to do, so I’m not sure that really qualifies for a bonus point,” Severus answered, his face expressionless, but his tone of voice betrayed his elation. “But as always, Albus, the decision lies with you. How do you want to score it?”

“I think no bonus point,” Albus ruled, nodding to himself, “but am I right in thinking that Mr. Weasley did in fact get our sanguine Slytherin to a lovely shade of red?”

“You are correct, he did get to a lovely shade of ‘Sweet Heart’,” Severus answered, pulling images up onto the screen. Below a picture of the Strangers face were five little images of nail varnish, with the middle bottle slightly enlarged. “Not quite as good as Potter’s ‘It’s a Girl!’, and definitely behind Miss Weasley’s achievement of ‘Passion’.”

“Excellent, and Miss Granger?” Albus asked, looking up at the screen.

“Miss Granger’s final colour was ‘You’re Blushing Again’, but she really should have continued slapping Mr. Malfoy, as that was a very effective method, and she would have been at least even with Potter if she’d kept it up.”

Hermione shook her head as her image popped up onto the screen, disappointed in herself. She really should have continued on that path, rather than moving to the pinching technique.

“Well then, I think we’ll have Miss Weasley and Mr. Potter on first and second,” Albus said, steepling his fingers as he thought carefully. “And then I’ll give Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger joint third place. There, that’s done.”

Ron wanted to protest, but something about the look on Albus’ face stopped him, and he sat back in his chair, folding his arms sulkily.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the final task, so can our contestants please proceed to the stage,” Albus boomed.

The four contenders groaned in unison, dreading what horribly ridiculous task they’d be asked to perform now.

 


	6. The Lost Labyrinth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am taking SO MANY liberties with Egyptian history/mythology/lore here.
> 
> Round: 3  
> Theme: Around the World  
> Type: Drabble (200-950 words)  
> Prompt: [Word] Undiscovered
> 
> Summary: Bill gets the opportunity to look for something long lost.

“Hal ‘ent muhtam?” the man asked, spinning a small blade across his fingers.

_ Yes _ , Bill wanted to reply immediately.  _ Yes, I’m very interested _ . The problem was, things like this were hard to gauge. Some curses were pure fiction, but most were based in some kind of truth, twisted over the course of millenia. And a story like this… well, anything could be buried beneath the sands. But the Lost Labyrinth was a challenge greater than any other, and Bill never turned down a challenge.

“Yallah,” he agreed, the fire of excitement burning brightly in his eyes.

He would need a crew to help him with this case, and he knew exactly who to approach. There was another curse-breaker, a man called Rick, who _only_ did freelance work. Bill had worked with him once before, and he knew that Gringotts had tried, and failed, to recruit him multiple times. He was a bit of a troublemaker, prone to getting in fights, but Rick was the best there was - a phenomenal curse-breaker, and with a lucky streak a mile long. He would also need a historian and linguist, or at least, that’s what she liked to call herself. Lara was as skilled in combat as she was learned about history (magical and muggle alike) and ancient languages, and was damn handy if they found themselves in a fight (which they often did).

The five of them met in Aswan, on the banks of Lake Nasser, ready to begin their quest. According to the stories, Amenemhat had decreed that his body be sent down the Nile on parade so that all in his empire might pay their respects. Anticipating this, his pyramid and temple would have been built at the end of that journey, likely between Lake Nasser and the Red Sea. It was largely desert there, which would ensure that his body lay untouched for all of time. But the problem was that Amenemhat also took a great deal of treasure with him, and built a labyrinth which promised enlightenment to anyone who could find the center. And so naturally, everyone wanted to find it.

They rode on the backs of griffins, sometimes flying above the sand dunes, and occasionally prowling among them, casting revealing charms and spells of exposition. It took nearly three days of scouring the desert for any sign of the Lost Labyrinth before they struck gold. As the sun was setting on their third day, a shimmer caught their attention. It looked almost like a mirage, just the barest outline of a massive structure twinkling in the low light. A collective gasp emanated from the group as they realized that they had just laid eyes on one of the most coveted undiscovered edifices in the world.

Once its location was known, it didn’t take long to remove the myriad of spells that kept it hidden from sight. They set up camp about a mile from the structure, not wanting to sleep too close and tempt any wards that guarded the place. They rose with the sun, ready to tackle the challenges ahead of them and find out what lay inside this undiscovered fortress.

At the entrance to the massive structure, two sphinxes lay guarding the door, their heads resting on oversized paws, eyes closed. Bill knew better than to think they would be able to pass unnoticed. As he anticipated, both sphinxes raised their heads as the entourage drew closer, blinking millenia of sleep from their aureate eyes. The one to the left of the door stretched and stood, testing her claws and shaking sand from her pelt. 

“You wish to enter the vault,” she stated, her deep voice hoarse after so long without use.

“Yes,” Bill answered, stepping forward in his capacity as leader of their group.

“You must answer our riddles first,” she instructed, moving to sit in front of the doorway. “You have one guess, and you may not walk away if you succeed in the first riddle. Answer both correctly, you may enter, but answer either wrong, and you all must perish.”

“Go ahead,” Bill said, trying to project a confidence that he did not feel. He hated riddles.

“Alloy, Oblong, Sac, Toddle, Noise, Ceasefire. Name a word that comes next in this series.”

Bill turned to the others, hoping one of them would have a better idea than he did. 

“Sabotage,” Lara spoke, and Bill grinned. He had no idea how she’d gotten the answer, but she was confident in it, and he was confident in her.

The sphinx smiled and moved to the side. Her companion was still lying down, eyeing them with curiosity, no doubt wondering how they found the Labyrinth after so long.

“I mark mortal privation, when firmly in place,” she began, her eyes narrowing at them. “An enduring summation, inscribed on my face.”

Bill let out a low whistle as he tried to think what the answer might be. His eyes searched their surroundings as if looking for some clue. The labyrinth looked like the base of a pyramid, inverted, as if it continued into the ground, and the thought gave him an idea.

“A tombstone,” he answered, and the sphinx gave him a wry smile.

“You may pass,” she said, dipping her head, as her companion lay down on the other side of the door.

They stepped past the sphinxes, relieved to have passed their first hurdle. As they stepped inside, darkness enveloped them, and adrenaline surged through their veins.

It was time to find out what lay inside the Lost Labyrinth.

* * *

Translations:

**_Hal ‘ent muhtam?_ ** \- Are you interested?   
**_Yallah_ ** \- Let’s go, let’s do this, etc.

 


	7. Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round: 3  
> Theme: Around the World  
> Type: Standard (950-2000 words)  
> Prompt: [Setting] Durmstrang Institute
> 
> A/N: Time period shift so that Viktor/Lightning Era is at school during present-day. Takes place before the Triwizard Tournament. Durmstrang Castle based on Egeskov.

 

It wasn’t fair. She ought to have been allowed to go to Hogwarts like her brother. Alicja had lived in England her whole life - had been  _ born _ there. She had grown up expecting to go to Hogwarts, like Aleksi, like her mother. Alicja had listened to stories about her mother’s time at school, and then the stories her brother told her about his classes, his friends, everything. And she had expected to get her chance, to be sorted into her house (Aleksi had been a Gryffindor, of course, but Alicja thought she would be a Ravenclaw). It was her  _ birthright _ .

But then things had started to change in England; her mother and father whispered a lot more behind closed doors. Other children in their town gave her dirty looks and told her she was filthy and stupid and unwelcome. It frightened her, but Alicja told herself that Hogwarts would be different, Hogwarts would be  _ better _ . Except she never got to find out, because her father announced that they were going to move to Poland, to his hometown of Lódź. Aleksi would finish his schooling at Hogwarts, since he only had two more years anyway, but Alicja would be attending Durmstrang. It was safer to be among their own people, they told her. 

So they had moved as soon as Aleksi got home for the summer holidays, and when it came time for Alicja to begin school, her parents had gone with her to Gdańsk, where she would board a ship bound for Durmstrang. Alicja wasn’t the type to kick and scream, instead she held her head up high as she prepared to walk across the gangway, but her heart was breaking inside.

“Kochanie, będzie dobrze,” her mother said, giving her a squeeze.  _ It will be alright. _

Her father was stoic as he bid her farewell, and her mother hugged her tight, not wanting to let go. But Alicja had to go, she had to start her new life. She took a deep breath and crossed the gangway to the small ship that awaited her, joining the handful of other students that were already onboard. She waved goodbye to her family one more time before a whistle blew, indicating that it was time to move inside. Alicja pressed her face to one of the portholes, watching as her family grew smaller, the ship pulling away into the Baltic Sea. 

When they were out of sight of the port, a sucking sound bombarded their ears, and the ship began to sink into the sea, eliciting a feeling of panic from deep in Alicja’s chest. Her fingers gripped the metal rim around the porthole, knuckles turning white as the bone strained against buttercream skin. Dark, swirling waters rose around the ship, climbing the porthole like some horrible, shrouding vine. Once they were fully submerged, and the light no longer filtered through from above, Alicja let out a breath. There was nothing to do now but wait. The other students peeled away from the windows as well, meandering in different directions, and Alicja grabbed her bag to find somewhere she could sit.

She found a little lounge area by the bow of the ship, with wide windows that looked out into the sea in front of them. Alicja could see little fish darting back and forth across the window, and occasionally a seal would dive in front of them. After some time, she saw a large shadowy mass in the distance, undulating through the water ahead of them, and she thought it might be a whale, and a very large one from the look of it. Her eyes grew wide as she watched the wildlife pass by, having never seen animals of this kind outside of an aquarium (and this was so wonderfully different). As they drew closer to their destination, the marine life became more magical. She could see little boginka playing in the shafts of light piercing the water, long fingers reaching out to tickle each other and laughter floating to the surface in little bubbles of sound. Larger merpeople, not unlike those of English lore, drifted between them, watching the ship as it pushed on towards Durmstrang. 

Eventually, the ship came to a slow, creaking halt, still submerged. The students on board began to gather by the entryway, and Alicja could hear a suctioning noise from the doorway, as well as the whoosh of water being expelled along the side of the ship. The door opened with a small  _ pop _ , and the students pressed forward into a walkway. As Alicja stepped on it, she gasped in amazement. The water had parted over the walkway, forming a little tunnel of air for them to pass through. The Baltic Sea was draped around her like a thick satin blanket, cold and smooth. Alicja reached out a hand to touch the water, which danced around her fingers as if it were a living creature itself. She smiled for the first time since leaving her family, and followed the other students.

Across the walkway, they entered a damp cavern, the stone slick with water and algae, and Alicja tried very hard not to wrinkle her nose as she ghosted one hand along the wall to keep from slipping. They ascended a curving set of stone steps, so worn from the years of feet pounding on them that they looked almost as if they had been created by the smooth ebb and flow of waves. At the top, they spilled out into a banquet hall, with stone walls that had been painted white and a dozen round tables spaced throughout the room. Thick, crimson velvet curtains hung from the windows, designed to keep the cold out, so the castle was as warm as possible. A heavy black rug occupied all but the outer edges of the floor, where dark mahogany boards could be seen running underneath. The effect was much warmer and more pleasant than anything Alicja had expected of Durmstrang.

Most of the students had already arrived and settled into their seats, the ship from Gdansk being the last one ferrying students to school. Alicja had no idea where to go, unsure whether there was some procedure for where new students should sit or how to divide themselves. At Hogwarts, she would have been sorted into her house and then gone to sit at the house table, but here, she wasn’t sure.  _ There couldn’t possibly be a dozen houses, could there? And surely if she were going to be sorted, someone would have come to tell her by now? _ She felt so out of place, the only new student who didn’t come from a long line of Durmstrang alumni, and it made her so nervous that she thought she might cry. But, as her father always said, you must have a stiff upper lip. So Alicja took a deep breath and cast her eyes about for a place to sit.

An older boy with close-cropped hair and dark, heavy-set eyes sat alone at one of the round tables. A few of the younger students approached the empty seats on either side of him, but he quickly fixed them with an intimidating stare, and they promptly turned away. Alicja hesitated as she drew closer to him, casting her eyes around the room for another place to sit. But she had no idea where she was supposed to go. She drew her lower lip between her teeth, chewing at it anxiously, and found the tip of her braid with her fingers. And when her eyes roamed back toward the stern-looking boy, she found him looking at her with curiosity and a certain kind of understanding. He inclined his head slightly toward the seat to his left, and Alicja only paused briefly before moving toward it and accepting his offer.

“Viktor,” he grunted, still looking around the room from beneath dark, hooded eyelids. “The other seat is for Ilya.”

She nodded, accepting his invitation even though she had no idea who Ilya was or when they might show up.

“My name is Alicja,” she said quietly, not sure what else she could say. She pulled her coat a little tighter around her small frame as she looked around the room. Everyone was sitting now, buzzing idly and waiting for something to happen.

Suddenly, music burst into existence, filling their eardrums with an imperial sounding march. The doors of the hall swung open once more, revealing a double line of professors. They promptly began processing through the hall, stern-faced, and they peeled off, each one taking a seat at one of the round tables. Toward the end of the line, the youngest professor seemed to have a difficult time keeping a straight face, more inclined to smile at all the students he passed. The young professor took the seat next to Viktor, and offered their whole table kind smiles. When all the professors had joined a table, one last figure remained, cutting a path through the entire hall. He had a pointy goatee and thin, wiry hair that had started to turn from black to grey. Despite the welcoming smile on his face, his eyes were cold and hard, like little slate discs. He walked through the whole hall before coming to a stop by a table at the front.

“Welcome!” he proclaimed, his voice ringing through the hall. “To Durmstrang! Let another year commence!” 

He clapped his hands twice, and it was the signal all the older students needed to begin reaching for the pots of food in front of them. As the lids were removed, Alicja could see stews and thick sauces, all steaming hot. She recognized bigos and żurek from her mother’s cooking, and there was a reddish colored stew that smelled strongly of garlic next to it. Her eyes landed on a dish with a bright orange sauce over chicken, and she could feel her mouth watering, longing to try the dish.

“Paprikás,” Viktor said, as he reached out and took a piece of chicken from the tray, dropping it onto his plate. “Quite good, but a bit strong.” He offered a piece out to Alicja, and she nodded excitedly, eager to try this new dish.

“So, you’ve found someone worthy of filling the empty seat,” the professor teased Viktor, smiling at Alicja. “Hello, I’m Ilya Daskalov, I’m a new professor here. What’s your name?”

“Alicja Ostrowski, sir, it’s very nice to meet you,” she replied politely. “Does everyone here speak English?”

Viktor grinned and Ilya laughed lightly, both seemingly amused by her question, which only confused her more.

“Only a few speak English,” Viktor explained, his dark eyes settling on her. “The castle translates for us all. We come from so far away, so many different languages, it is necessary.”

“But we still offer courses in other languages!” Ilya hastened to add, his enthusiasm for teaching clear. “As electives for older students.”

They continued talking throughout the meal, and Alicja learned that Viktor was from Bulgaria and he loved quidditch, and that he and Ilya had been friends from Viktor’s first year at Durmstrang, despite being a year apart. She learned that Durmstrang had a dark and painful history that stained its reputation, but most of the students were kind and noble people, no different from the students at Hogwarts. The classes would be fascinating, and Viktor promised to help her whenever she needed, so at least she had one friend. And it was nice, in a way, to see her family’s culture and history reflected in the school, from the food to the coursework. 

Maybe Durmstrang would be alright after all. Maybe it could be her home.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations
> 
> Kochanie, będzie dobrze. - It will be alright, my love.  
> Bigos - Polish hunter’s stew, made from meat/sausage and sauerkraut/shredded cabbage  
> Żurek - Polish rye soup, made with sourdough rye flour  
> Paprikás - Hungarian chicken dish made with a sweet paprika-infused sauce  
> Stufat - Romanian stew made with lamb, onion and garlic (referenced as reddish in color and smelling strongly of garlic)


	8. Foundations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round: 4  
> Theme: A Time for Everything  
> Type: Standard (950-2000 words)  
> Prompt: [Time Period] Founders' Era
> 
> A/N: Okay, so I know that canonically, the Founders come from different parts of the UK, but that didn’t work for me, so I guess AU where they grew up near each other. Age-wise, the founders are early-mid teens. Helga - 14ish, Rowena - 15ish, Salazar / Godric - 16ish.

 

Rowena dashed through the doorway of her house, dark curls flying out behind her as she ran down the dirt path. She looked every bit like her mother, whose family had come from the Holy Land when the fingertips of the Roman Empire had still stretched into the English isle. Her father said he was descended from Merlin himself, but her mother always scoffed at that.

Rowena’s bare feet pounded against the ground. Dust was flying up around her in small clouds, dulling the blue of her dress, but she didn’t care. Today, she was going to Helga’s to meet her friends and practise magic, and she was so excited that she felt like she was floating in the air. (Maybe if she got good enough, she really  _ would _ be able to float.)

Helga was outside when Rowena arrived, fair hair tied in a long plait that swung over her shoulder as she bent to pick flowers. In the distance, Rowena could see Salazar and Godric walking down the hill together, Godric’s head tossed back in laughter at something his companion had said. They were as close as brothers, but they could not have looked more different. Salazar’s skin was darker than anyone Rowena had ever seen, though her mother sometimes spoke of wise men in the desert who looked similar. Godric, on the other hand, could have been Helga’s twin, with the same golden hair and ivory skin and pink-stained cheeks. He had never claimed it, but Rowena would have believed that Godric was descended from King Arthur. There was just something about him that  _ screamed _ leadership and majesty.

Rowena paused for a moment, feeling the wind rustling through her hair, cooling her skin, and she watched as Helga looked up and saw the boys approaching, a smile spreading across her face. Helga’s happiness to see them brought a smile to Rowena’s face, and she thought about how lucky she was to have three wonderful friends who understood her so completely.

It had started when they were all just small children. Witches and wizards were not common and tended to live private lives, but they learned to recognize each other in ways that non-magic folk would never notice. Rowena had just passed her fifth or sixth name day* when she had gone to the nearby village with her mother to buy more herbs for her potions. A little girl only a bit younger than Rowena had been playing amongst the flowers, and somehow her mother had just known. They had met the boys a year later, the two of them a little bit older than the girls. Godric and Salazar had known each other nearly their whole lives, both of them living closer to the village, but they had clicked with Helga and Rowena immediately. Over time, they had developed a routine of meeting at Helga’s house once a week to play, and then study magic as they got older. She was the midpoint between them all, but her family was also the most willing to let three other children run rampant in their fields and sleep in their house when it got too late to go home.

Rowena rushed down the path to Helga’s house, a smile on her face as she joined her friends, eager to begin their day. 

“Hi! Did you hear that Æthelstan has declared himself King of all England?” Rowena gushed, keen to share the news that her father had heard from a passing traveler two days ago.

“Why should we care what muggles do?” Godric scoffed, bright eyes focusing on Rowena and offering her a small smile that softened the harshness of his words.

“The muggles affect us,” Salazar answered quietly. “They are the ones that govern this land, and they are the ones who fear magic enough to condemn anyone who possesses it.”

“Hush, enough of that,” Helga said, shaking her head as if she was clearing her mind of bad thoughts. “We have nothing to fear from muggles, and they have nothing to fear from us.”

Salazar opened his mouth to argue, probably to say that having nothing to fear did not seem to stop muggles from being afraid, but he thought better of it and shrugged. The four of them moved to the field behind the little house, where they often did their practicing. There had been enough accidents indoors for them to learn that they were safest in the open. 

They settled themselves in the small clearing on the edge of the field that they preferred, tall shafts of wheat melding into ancient tree trunks reaching toward the heavens with viridian fingers. Rowena nestled amongst the trees, leaning her back against one of the thick trunks, bark pressing against her spine as she tried to gather her thoughts toward her task for the day. In the beginning, they had all worked on the same things together, learning basics and helping each other along. But now they often followed their own interests, reaching along the vine of magic to pluck at what they fancied most. Rowena had been trying to work out how she might use an object to harness and enhance her powers; she had heard of wizards in other lands who used wands or tridents or other objects to direct their magic, but, so far, they had none that she knew of in England.

“Have you heard the talk of the muggles starting a university in the South?” Helga asked as she practised knitting broken tree branches back together and sending them up to join with the trunk.

“Wouldn’t that be wonderful,” Rowena mused, as images of grand buildings swarming with students filled her mind.

“Do you think we could ever have something like that for wizards?” Salazar wondered aloud, his eyes glazed over in thought.

“How many wizards are there in England?” Godric asked abruptly, skepticism colouring his voice.

“Maybe a hundred,” Rowena answered, doing the math in her head. If the four of them lived so close together, and one assumed the concentration of wizards was consistent throughout the isle… It stood to reason there could be well over a hundred wizards and witches.

“It would be so nice to be with our own kind,” Helga said, looking out over the swaying wheat. “To live and learn in the open.”

“We could do it,” Rowena whispered, eyeing the other three from beneath her lashes.

Salazar’s eyes were bright with excitement, the thought of creating a society where they could be free together enticing to him. Godric seemed unsure, but as he looked at the others, he squared his shoulders, never one to back down from a challenge.

“How would we find them all?” Helga asked, turning one of the twigs in her hand over absentmindedly.

“Where would we take them?” Godric added, wind whistling around him from the storm that he had been trying to brew.

“What would we do with them?” Salazar continued, piling on to their list of questions.

“We could teach them,” Rowena answered. “Sort of like a university, but when they’re younger. We could show them how to control their magic, how to use it properly so that no one gets hurt. Wouldn’t it have been so much easier if we’d had teachers?”

“We need a plan,” Salazar said, needing no persuading.

“We should make a list of all the things we would have to do,” Rowena suggested, and Helga conjured parchment and a long ivory quill, already dripping with ink.

“We can decide who is the best to handle each task as well,” Helga offered, her quill hovering over the page.

They spent the afternoon dreaming about their school, about all the wizarding children who would be brought together in their midst. They thought about the life they could give them, not having to hide who they were, and all four of them were filled with a sense of purpose that they had not experienced before that day. By the time the sun dipped low on the horizon, staining the sky with hues of pink and orange, the four friends had devised a plan, and though it would take some time to execute, they vowed never to give up until they saw their vision realized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *“Name day” is drawn from the idea that in societies affected by high infant mortality rates, people often delayed naming their children for a few months until the likelihood that they would survive was better. This day might be celebrated in place of a birthday, as it marks the point when the child becomes recognized by society.


	9. Family News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round: 4  
> Theme: A Time for Everything  
> Type: Standard (950-2000 words)  
> Prompt: [Setting] Graveyard  
> Restriction: [Character] Bill Weasley  
>   
> Round 4 Judges' Pick!!

Bill walked through the small graveyard, a fine September rain misting in the air. Ginny had returned to Hogwarts a week earlier, but Ron had decided not to go back, and Bill wasn’t surprised. His youngest brother had never been the most interested in academia and now… well, it was hard to be on the grounds again, to face the memories of all that had happened.

It had taken a lot of work to get the castle repaired and ready for students before the new year was to begin, and they had all helped out where they could. The biggest debate, in the early days, had been over what to do for those who had perished in the battle. Some of the families wanted to take their loved ones home, to memorialize them as they saw fit. Others felt that the school ought to remember their sacrifice. In the end, they had decided to create a small cemetery on the grounds of the castle for those who had been killed. A new entrance had been created, with free access to the cemetery at any time, and a magical barrier stood around it to prevent anyone from moving deeper into the castle grounds without business there. 

George had been pretty opposed to burying Fred in the victim’s cemetery, but Bill thought that it was probably less about the location and more that it would suck to bury him anywhere. But the rest of the family had understood that as much as they wanted to be close to Fred, having him near their house would only keep the wound raw and bleeding. And it was nice, really, that there was a memorial, that students of the future would know what these people gave to free the school, to free all of wizarding society.

Bill walked the familiar path to the statue that stood above Fred’s grave - a sculpture of Juventas holding a toga over one forearm and offering a chalice with her other hand. He knelt at the base, tracing the lettering with one of his fingers. He sighed heavily, feeling the familiar ache tug at his heart.

“Hey, Fred,” he said, sinking back onto his heels and feeling a little bit silly. “I, uh, I just wanted to tell you that you’re going to be an uncle.”

Bill could imagine Fred’s smile, full and joyful and completely unreserved. He would be practically bouncing off the walls with excitement.

“You’re the first to know,” Bill continued, finding the words easier to come by now. “Well, Fleur knows, obviously, but Mum and Dad don’t yet. We’re gonna wait a little longer to tell them, just in case, you know? But I had to tell someone, and I know  _ you _ won’t spill the beans.”

Bill let out a noise that was some combination of a laugh and a strangled sob. He would give anything for his brother to be able to let his secret slip.

“It’s kind of weird, Fred,” Bill said, shaking his head. “I don’t feel like a dad. I have no idea how to be a dad. You would think I’d know, ‘cause our dad is… he’s always been pretty great. But suddenly I realize I have no idea how he did it. We haven’t talked about it yet, but I don’t think we’ll name the baby Fred. I hope you don’t mind. But, if anyone, I think George should have that right.”

Bill looked into the forest, lost in thought for a moment as he ran his fingers roughly through his hair. He couldn’t help but think about his brother, and how distraught he continued to be, not that Bill blamed him at all. It never got easier to see the pain in George’s eyes.

“He’s gonna be okay, Fred,” Bill murmured, his focus turning back to Fred’s grave. “It’s hard right now, I think it’s always gonna be hard. I know sometimes he sees his reflection out of the corner of his eye and he thinks… He’ll be okay though. We’re all gonna take care of him, you don’t have to worry. We all miss  you, Fred. Nothing is the same without you around. But I know you’re there, in some way, I know you’re watching.”

Bill looked up and saw the sun starting to peek through the lower branches of the forests’ trees, and he let out a heavy sigh.

“I should probably go. Fleur’s been feeling pretty sick and I don’t want to leave her on her own for too long. But I just wanted to tell you the news. See you soon, Fred.”

Bill stood and wiped his face roughly with his hands as he turned away. He was never sure if he felt better after coming here or if it just made him more sad. But honestly, he didn’t care if it felt like the Hogwarts Express ran over his heart, as long as he got to talk to Fred, even if he couldn’t reply.

 


	10. Guardian Giraffe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round: 5  
> Theme: Food is Good for the Soul  
> Type: Standard (950-2000 words)  
> Prompt: [Object] Baby toy

_I'm not ready for this_ , Molly thought to herself as she walked through Diagon Alley.  _I'm only nineteen, and we just got engaged a few months ago._

She had always planned on waiting. Her family was very traditional, and she didn't begrudge that at all - she liked tradition, she liked all the old-world values that her friends scorned. She didn't blame her friends either; the world was changing and things were different now, relationships were different now. But that wasn't Molly. And Arthur had understood, which was all that mattered.

But then they'd gotten engaged in October, and they'd talked about it and decided that engaged was close enough to married. Not that they were going to rush or make a big deal out of it or anything. Molly didn't want there to be a lot of pressure on having a special night or anything like that, she just… She wanted it to be natural. And it was - everything was great, but now…

Molly had always known she wanted kids. She had always wanted to be a wife and a mother, and not just because it was traditional, but because she genuinely couldn't imagine anything better. What could be more rewarding than creating a new life? Than teaching that person to be good, kind, and thoughtful? But not right now… She thought she and Arthur would have some time together first. They had talked about traveling, about seeing the world for a while after they got married.

Molly ran a hand through her curls, sighing heavily. She was supposed to be picking things out for their house, and here she was focusing on her problems. No, not problems. I don't ever want to think of it as a problem. She touched her stomach subconsciously, the fabric of her dress soft against her skin. She was scared though, terrified really. She just wasn't ready.

Madam Siskin's Baby Boutique caught Molly's eye, an array of blue and pink paraphernalia displayed in the window. She hesitated by the door, before pushing it open, and a soft bell tinkled in the air above her.

"Can I help you, my dear?" an old woman crooned as she shuffled out from a back room somewhere. She had a kind look to her, like the sweetest grandma to walk the planet.

Molly shook her head, eyes wide as she took in all the items lining the walls and the small racks of clothing. It was all so tiny.

"If you need anything, just let me know," the older woman chuckled with a knowing smile.

Molly nodded and slowly began to browse the shelves, drawn to the assortment of toys that waddled and shook and cooed. She reached out and ran her fingers over a little stuffed giraffe, marvelling at the softness.

"It's not just a toy," the storekeeper said, appearing over Molly's shoulder. "It's a protector. It watches the little one and it will alert you if the baby spikes a fever or stops breathing, or anything else that needs attention. Handy little helper, he is."

"Thank you," Molly croaked, her heart squeezing painfully at the thought of her baby not breathing. She pulled the toy down from the shelf and held it close to her chest, reaching into her little bag for a few sickles.

"You're going to be a wonderful mother," the woman offered, accepting the coins from Molly. "Your son is very lucky."

"My…?" Molly stammered. "How…?"

The old woman simply smiled mysteriously, shuffling away to the back room once more.

Molly clutched the little giraffe close as she strode from the store and Apparated home. She could shop for furniture another day.

o . o . o

Molly backed out of the nursery as quietly as possible, trying very hard not to wake the baby. It had been an exhausting few days for their little family, with a newborn and all the extended family they could reasonably see wanting to celebrate the holiday with them. But they were finally back home, just the three of them, and Bill was fast asleep in his crib, tiny fist wrapped tightly around his toy giraffe's leg.

She shut the door to the nursery behind her and sighed as she padded across the hall to her room. Arthur was already in bed, but he looked up from his briefing and smiled at her as she slipped into bed with him. Sometimes she wasn't sure she would ever get used to curling up next to him, and the word husband still felt strange on her tongue, but it was weird in the most wonderful way. Arthur made her heart somersault every time he wrapped his arms around her, and she hoped that would never change. It didn't take either of them long to fall asleep, arms and legs intertwined, soft snores floating into the air.

Sometime in the early hours of the morning, Molly sat upright, her heart pounding. Something was amiss. She looked at the clock and saw that it had been six hours since she had gone to sleep…far too long. She reached over and nudged Arthur gently, and he woke up as quickly as she had.

"Wha's wrong?" he mumbled, rubbing the drowsiness from his eyes and trying to suppress a yawn.

"I don't know, but something woke me," she whispered, swinging her feet out of bed and placing them on the cold wood floor. "Bill's been asleep for a long time."

Arthur looked at her, taking in the forehead creased with worry, and pushed himself out of bed. He took her hand and squeezed it, trying to offer some sense of reassurance, and then they both hurried as quietly as possible into the nursery.

Bill was still sleeping, but his cheeks had taken on a pink hue. When Molly reached out to run her fingers over his velvet skin, she could feel fire burning beneath it.

"He's got a fever!" she groaned, trying to keep her voice low. "Arthur, what do we do?"

_Cool washcloth and a bit of elderflower mixed in milk_ , a voice said in Molly's ear, and she jumped in surprise. Beside her, Arthur looked equally shocked, looking around for the voice's source.  _Let him sleep, but when he wakes, a little bit of elderflower._

Molly looked at her son and the little giraffe in his arms, and she understood what the woman in the store had meant. It was the giraffe that had woken her, alerting her to what was wrong, and now it was telling her what to do. With a surge of appreciation, Molly rushed to the bathroom and ran a small washcloth under the tap. She hurried back to the nursery, handing the cloth to Arthur as he stood over their son. As he moved the cloth gently over Bill's forehead, Molly bit her lip, unsure of what to do and feeling utterly helpless. After a few moments, Bill's little feet began to kick, a sign that he was beginning to wake up.

"Stay with him," Molly whispered to Arthur, "I'll go and get a bottle."

She walked down to the kitchen, and pulled a small baby bottle from the cupboard. With a flick of her wand, Molly siphoned enough milk to fill most of the bottle, leaving a bit of room for some crushed elderflower. The windowsill housed her collection of herbs and spices, and she searched through the plants until she found the blooms she was looking for. Carefully, she heated up the blend until it was the right temperature, before affixing the lid and returning to the nursery. Arthur was sitting in their rocking chair and holding Bill, who was wriggling and whimpering quietly.

"Shhh, sweet boy," Molly crooned as she knelt next to them, running her hand over her baby's head and smiling when his eyes found her. "This will help."

She offered Arthur the bottle, and he held it for their son, who drank happily. Before he was even halfway finished, the color in his cheeks began to subside, and the heat under his skin evaporated. Molly sighed in relief, and leaned against Arthur's legs.

"I think he's alright now if you want to try to get some more sleep," Arthur suggested, softly running his fingers through his wife's curls.

"That's alright, I think I'll stay with him a bit longer, but you should sleep," Molly answered. As much as she loved having her husband's help at night, he was supposed to go back to work the next day - his leave was officially ending now that the holidays had passed, and she knew he needed sleep.

Arthur nodded and stood, allowing Molly to take his spot, and then handed Bill off to her. He pressed a kiss to the top of each of their heads before leaving, sleepily shuffling back to bed. Molly looked at the little boy squirming in her arms, her little boy. She was getting better at this whole mum thing.


	11. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round: 5  
> Theme: Food is Good for the Soul  
> Type: Drabble [200-950 words]  
> Prompt: [Food] Pancakes/Crepes

 

All Fleur wanted to eat was crêpes. Sweet crêpes with chocolate and homemade jam, or savoury crêpes with ham and cheese, it didn't matter. With Victoire, she had craved anything with nutella - stuffed beignets, toasted paninis, ice cream with nutella drizzled across the top. And then with Dominique she had wanted all the rich French stews - coq au vin, boeuf bourguignon. Perhaps it was because she was a winter baby. But now this one only seemed to want crêpes.

Fleur sighed and began pulling the ingredients from the pantry - flour, eggs, butter, milk, sugar… she set each on the counter, humming to herself as she moved. Her grandmother had taught her how to make them when she had been a little girl. Gabrielle was just a baby, and Fleur remembered holding her in her lap as she tore chunks of the sweet crêpes off and stuffed them in her mouth. They had tasted so good. Her mouth started watering at the memory, and she sped up her movements a little.

"Maman!" Victoire called, running through the house.

"Dans la cuisine," Fleur replied, waiting for the patter of little feet to join her.

"Maman, j'ai faim," Victoire pouted. She was adorable when she sulked, her lower lip poking out and her eyes big and watery. Her silvery hair was falling out of its braid, flyaways dusting the sides of her cheeks.

"Veux-tu apprendre à faire des crêpes?" Fleur asked, reaching out and smoothing some of Victoire's hair back.

"Oui! Oui!" she squealed, jumping up and down excitedly.

"Alors, va chercher ta soeur," Fleur said, and Victoire immediately scurried away.

A few minutes later, Victoire returned, practically dragging a sleepy Dominique by the hand. The younger girl rubbed at her eyes, and Fleur scooped her up in her arms before she started to cry. Victoire was always a bouncing ball of energy, but Dominique could quickly dissolve into a weeping mess when she was tired. Fleur rubbed her back soothingly as Victoire pushed one of the chairs from the table over to the counter and climbed on top of it.

"Bon, mes petites," Fleur began. "First, we need to melt the butter, and then we add in milk and flour, and eggs. Do you want to crack the eggs?"

Dominique and Victoire both nodded excitedly, and Fleur carefully handed each of them a small, brown egg.

"Now you have to be careful, okay?" Fleur instructed, pulling a bowl close to them. "Gently hit the egg on the side of the bowl, like this." She took another egg and showed them what to do. "Then when you have a little crack, you pull it apart and let the inside drop into the bowl. But be careful not to get any of the shell in, yes?"

Both girls nodded and did as she had showed them, and only a little bit of egg yolk ended up outside of the bowl.

"Perfect. Now, Dominique, you help me measure out the flour and milk," Fleur continued. "Victoire, you are going to mix everything together as we add it, okay?"

They added all the ingredients and mixed the batter together, flecks of flour and thin paste spattering the kitchen walls and counters. Squeals and giggles of joy echoed through the small space from the two little girls, and Fleur could feel her unborn child flipping happily in her belly as she laughed. While she cooked the thin pancakes, Victoire and Dominique gathered bowls of fresh berries from their garden. When they had finished, they sat at the kitchen table, kicking their small feet through the air and grinning in anticipation.

"Voilà!" Fleur announced as she set three plates down on the table with one crêpe each - there were more on the counter, but she didn't want the girls to get too far ahead of themselves.

They piled berries high on their crêpes, and when they were done, Fleur drizzled a bit of nutella on top, and helped her daughters fold their crêpes properly. She watched them giggle as they nibbled at the snack, teasing each other as berry juice and chocolate stained their cheeks and fingers. Fleur leaned back happily, a wonderful new memory taking shape alongside the old one - both featuring two sisters and delicious crêpes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Maman = Mom/Mommy  
> Dans la cuisine = In the kitchen  
> j'ai faim = I'm hungry  
> Veux-tu apprendre à faire des crêpes? = Do you want to learn how to make crepes?  
> Oui = Yes  
> Alors, va chercher ta soeur = Okay, go get your sister


	12. Rain Delay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round: 6  
> Theme: Unexpected Life  
> Type: Drabble [200-950 words]  
> Prompt: [Event] Being late for their own wedding
> 
> Additional Prompt: [Weather] Drizzle

“What’s taking so long?” Katie asked, pacing across the floor in her dressing room. Her eyes flickered to the window, the soft patter of rain on the glass attracting her attention.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Angelina replied, glancing toward the door. The wedding coordinator was supposed to come get them all at four o’clock, when it was time for the procession to start, but it was ten minutes past four and she still hadn’t showed up.

“You don’t think…” Katie started to say, wringing her hands.

“No, there’s no way he changed his mind, he’s not that stupid,” Angelina huffed. If Fred had decided to bail last minute, then he was beyond idiotic (and a dead man).

“Oh my god! I wasn’t even thinking that!” Katie gasped, anxiety and worry emanating from her in waves. “I was going to say what if something happened to him?”

“Oops,” Angelina said, feeling a little bit guilty. She had totally misread that. “I’m sure it’s nothing, just people showing up late - the usual delays. Fred’s probably standing up at the altar anxious for  _ you _ to walk down the aisle.”

o . o . o

“Ronald, where is your brother?” Molly hissed, hurrying over to him.

“No idea,” Ron shrugged. 

“Am I the only one concerned that this wedding was supposed to start  _ fifteen _ minutes ago and the groom  _ still _ hasn’t arrived?” she huffed, hands on her hips.

“Katie’s probably pretty worried about it,” Ron mumbled, not wanting to be part of whatever situation was going on  _ at all _ .

“You’re not too old to have your ears boxed, young man,” Molly warned, and Ron immediately took a step away.

As Molly opened her mouth to speak again, the outer doors of the chapel opened, and a red-haired young man in a grey suit rushed in, shaking water droplets from his hair.

“Fred!” Molly exclaimed, taking her son’s arm and pushing him towards the inner door. “Where have you been? Oh never mind, just hurry up so we can start the procession… honestly, twenty minutes late to your own wedding -”

“Mum, no, I’m -” Fred protested, trying to resist her shoves down the aisle.

“What must Katie think, she’s probably so worried, keeping her waiting, I hope you’re a better husband than that,” she ploughed on, completely disregarding her son’s objections.

They reached the front of the chapel, next to the altar, and Molly finally released her hold on her son. 

“Now, you stay here, and I’ll go tell the coordinator that we’re ready to start so she can fetch Katie,” she commanded.

“MUM!” he hollered, demanding her attention. “I’m not Fred, I’m George.”

“Good heavens,” Molly whispered to herself, looking horrified. George wasn’t sure whether she was more upset that she couldn’t tell the difference between her sons or that she still didn’t know where Fred was.

“It started to drizzle, and when Fred saw, he said he needed to take care of something, some sort of surprise,” George explained. “I offered to handle it, but he said he had to be the one to do it, so he sent me ahead to tell you guys what was going on. Just go sit down, he should be here soon, he said it wouldn’t take that long.”

Molly took her seat next to Arthur and the rest of her children, Ron joining them once he was sure that all the guests had arrived. They waited rather impatiently for Fred to get there, whispers crawling among their friends and family. After what seemed like an eternity, the side door of the chapel swung open.

Fred rushed in, more than a little bit wet. He had been so preoccupied with the surprise that he had evidently forgotten to make sure he didn’t end up completely sodden. He threw a thumbs up into the air to tell the wedding coordinator that they were ready to proceed, and rushed to his spot at the front of the chapel. He flashed his twin brother a grin as the music began to swell and echo through the space.

The grand doors at the back of the chapel opened and Angelina began to walk down the aisle, dark skin beautifully complemented by the buttercream dress she was wearing. George smiled widely as he saw his girlfriend walking down the aisle, thinking of a little ring he had hidden in the Burrow and a day in the not too distant future where they’d get to do this again (he hoped). He winked when she reached the front, taking her place opposite him, and she giggled quietly in response.

The doors open once more and Katie appeared in view, radiant in her white gown. Fred had never seen a sight more splendid, and his heart leapt with joy. It seemed to take an eternity for her to make her way down the aisle to him, and yet at the same time it passed in the blink of an eye, and then she was there. The most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, and she was standing in front of him, and he was going to marry her.

“You look absolutely amazing,” Fred whispered, and she smiled even wider.

“Well, I thought one of us should,” she quipped, eyes darting across his damp suit and soggy hair.

Fred laughed out loud, unable to contain his mirth. She was perfect.

“I had to make sure everything was perfect,” he whispered, explaining his drenched appearance. 

Katie gave him a questioning look, but Fred only grinned mischievously, imagining her face when she saw the new fireworks he had created just for her, just for this day. The best day of his life.

 


	13. The Clearing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For the purposes of this story, Molly is older than Gideon and Fabian, and the boys are not twins. It seems unclear as to whether or not they were older/twins according to canon, but in any case, in this story they aren't.
> 
> Round: 5  
> Theme: Unexpected Life  
> Type: Standard (950-2000 words)  
> Prompt: [Character] Molly Weasley

 

"Come on, I want to show you something."

Molly pulled Gideon's hand as she tugged him from the Gryffindor table. Her little brother had been eating a late breakfast with his new friends, but Molly had been waiting five years to share this with him.

"Where are we going?" Gideon whined, pulling his hand from her grasp. He was eleven now, not a little kid anymore, and he didn't need to hold his sister's hand.

"It's a surprise," Molly grinned, tucking an errant curl behind her ear.

She walked straight out the great oak doors that formed the main entrance to the castle, her eyes closing for a brief moment as she felt the sun warm her skin. Molly set off across the grounds, Gideon trailing close behind her.

"My very first year at Hogwarts, many many moons ago," Molly teased, elbowing him lightly, "I found something pretty special. I never told anyone about it, but when I'm sad or need to think or just need something to cheer me up, I go to this place, and it never fails to make me feel better."

"What is it?" Gideon asked, his eyes alight with curiosity.

"You'll see," she said, enjoying dragging out the surprise as long as possible.

They walked through the grounds to the the Black Lake, and then skirted its shore until they were almost a third of the way around. There, hidden amongst the brush was a little dirt path, almost overgrown. Molly pushed her way through the branches and Gideon followed, looking back to find that the lake was almost completely barred from view by the foliage. They walked on, and Gideon told Molly about his first few weeks of classes and his friends and everything he hoped the year would hold. In return, Molly told him a few stories from her earlier years at Hogwarts that she had kept to herself, and he grinned happily at being privy to her secrets. It was chilly in the shade, the October air making the two of them draw their coats tighter around their bodies.

After a little while, when Gideon was beginning to drag his feet and wonder when they would reach their destination, the path opened up into a large clearing. The sun filtered through the trees, bathing the area in a magical yellow-green light. Flowers were budding on bushes around the outside of the clearing, and cherry blossom trees dotted the perimeter in full bloom.

"It's pretty," Gideon said, not entirely sure what he was supposed to be looking at.

"Just wait," Molly replied, her eyes drifting around the clearing, watching for something.

After a moment, it happened.

It began with a soft rustle, and then the bushes on the other side of the clearing began to part. From between the branches stepped the most majestic and beautiful creature Gideon had ever seen. Snow white and almost glowing with a soft light, with an immaculate golden horn, the unicorn emerged into the clearing. Gideon gasped quietly, his eyes meeting the unicorn's, and it felt as though some kind of greeting or acknowledgement passed between them. Molly smiled at the look of awe on her brother's face.

"Go on," she encouraged, nodding toward the unicorn. "Slowly."

Gideon moved forward, reaching out his hand with his palm open and outstretched. The unicorn stepped closer tentatively, it's nostrils flaring as it sniffed him. As it made its way farther into the clearing, Gideon could see a much smaller unicorn concealed behind it. The baby was a luminescent gold from head to toe, with amber eyes. It pranced out ahead of its parent, sidling up to Gideon with the confidence of a child and rubbing its nose against his palm.

"This is amazing," Gideon whispered.

"It's a safe place for them," Molly explained, moving to stand next to him. The white unicorn approached her, greeting her like an old friend. "There's some sort of magic here, so they can be more at ease - it's hard for anyone to hurt them here, even if they wanted to, although I don't know why anyone would."

"So you just come here and sit with them?" Gideon asked, stroking the baby unicorn's golden mane.

"It's peaceful," Molly answered, nodding. "And they're good companions. Sometimes they like to play, sometimes they'll just come sit with you and comfort you. They always seem to know what you need, even if you don't."

"Are there always unicorns here?" he asked, looking at her wide-eyed.

"I'm not sure," Molly admitted. "I don't think they stay here all the time, but one will always show up within a few minutes when I come here."

They stayed in the clearing for a while, Gideon running around the clearing with the baby unicorn while Molly sat on the edge with its parent, watching fondly. They could have spent hours there, but eventually their stomachs began to grumble, and they knew it was time to return to the castle. They bid farewell to the two unicorns, who turned and disappeared into the forest with happily swishing tails, and then set off on their own path back to the school.

"How many of them are there?" Gideon asked as they emerged onto the shore of the Black Lake once more.

"I don't know," Molly answered. "I'm not sure anyone does. But I don't think there can be many. Unicorns are supposed to be very rare. Hagrid's the only one I know who's seen them outside of Care of Magical Creatures class.

Gideon was quiet for a while as they walked, a pensive silence falling over them.

"Thank you for showing that to me," Gideon said after a while, looking at his sister with sincerity.

"Of course," Molly answered, smiling affectionately and giving her little brother a hug. "You're my brother, I'll share everything with you."

"What about Fabian?"

"Him too, when it's his turn," Molly laughed. Fabian would join them at Hogwarts next year, and then together, she hoped, they could show him the clearing and the unicorns, but for the moment, it was enough to share this secret with Gideon.


	14. Under Your Skin (Then You Begin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round: 7  
> Theme: Let's Sing and Dance  
> Type: Drabble [200-950 words]  
> Prompt: [Song] Hey Jude by The Beatles
> 
> Additional Prompt: Write a hurt/comfort

 

__ Remember to let her into your heart  
_ Then you can start to make it better  
_ __ \-  Hey Jude by The Beatles

 

Sirius sat at the top of the Astronomy Tower, feeling the wind rustling in his hair. It had been a difficult day. Beyond difficult, really. He had woken up exhausted and in a foul mood after the thunderstorms the night before, and it had only gotten worse from there. 

Sirius hadn’t expected much from his family on his birthday. Over the years, it had mostly served as an opportunity for his parents to remind him how little he had accomplished so far, and that even though Regulus was a year younger than him, he would be a much better heir for the Black legacy. Once he had started at school, he wasn’t with his family on his birthday, and so things were a bit better. His parents sent him some impractical and unwanted gifts, and he and Regulus would find time to do something together. It was stiff and formal, and not exactly something he looked forward to, but it was _ something _ .

But this year was different. It was his seventeenth birthday. He was a man, legally an adult now. His birthday should have been a big deal. According to tradition, Sirius should have been gifted his father’s gold wristwatch, with its intricate carvings of the celestial world. But instead he received a letter from his parents informing him that he was ungrateful and unworthy of a family, and would never have one again. He would have to make his way forward in life, not just without the Black family’s support and influence, but with the opposition. He was officially and legally disowned.  _ From this year on _ , they wrote,  _ this day will hold no meaning to us. It will pass by unnoticed _ . They signed the letter “Orion & Walburga Black”, without birthday wishes or sentiment of any kind. It wasn’t entirely unexpected. Sirius had known he would be disowned eventually and had almost assumed it had happened already, but it was no less of a punch to the gut.

Worse than that was Regulus. He had been distant all year, but they were in different houses and different years, and they didn’t have much opportunity to interact anyway, so Sirius brushed it off. But when Sirius approached him that morning, Regulus had quietly informed him that he was forbidden from speaking with Sirius beyond what niceties were required.  _ You don’t have to do this! _ Sirius had wanted to scream.  _ You don’t have to listen to them! _ But he swallowed his words and moved on, making his way to class instead.

James, Remus and Peter tried their best to cheer Sirius up throughout the day, but it was no use. After dinner, Sirius had made his way to the Astronomy Tower to be alone and process everything that had happened. So he didn’t have a family anymore, big deal. He didn’t need them anyway. And he had the Potters, who seemed to like him just fine. Doubt crept into his mind in the form of his parents’ words. Unworthy of a family. Maybe the Potters would come to the same conclusion. 

Sirius shook his head, trying to dispel those thoughts. It wasn’t going to happen. 

The door creaked behind him and Sirius whipped his head around to see who was there. Marlene stepped out from the shadows, strands of her hair lifting on the wind. She walked over to him, pulling her black leather jacket tighter around her, the heels of her boots clicking on the stone floor.

“Whatcha doin’ up here?” she asked, sitting down next to him.

“I just wanted some time to myself,” he answered with a shrug. Sirius didn’t particularly feel like discussing his inner turmoil with anyone. 

“I know that your family sucks,” Marlene said after a long, quiet moment. “Probably more than most.”

“Who told you?” Sirius asked defensively. There were very few people who knew the particulars about his home life.

“Sirius, it’s the worst kept secret at school that you have a shitty relationship with your family,” she laughed. “But I guess I’m probably one of the few that’s guessed the details of what goes on at home. Takes one to know one.”

Sirius looked at her inquisitively, noticing the way the moonlight reflected in her brown eyes. Marlene sighed and began to talk.

“My father’s the one who named me, you know. Mum wanted something religious, probably Maria, but Dad decided on Marlene. I look like my mother though, spitting image really. And hopefully I take after her in personality too.” She smiled wryly at the horizon, and Sirius felt the urge to tuck her hair behind her ear. “He’s a bloody asshole. And an alcoholic. And, um, I guess the rest is pretty stereotypical.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius whispered. Despite often wishing that someone else understood what it was like for him, he never actually wanted anyone to go through it.

“It’s fine,” she shrugged. “Or at least, it is what it is. But I get it, and if you ever want to talk to someone about it, I’m here. And if you don’t want to talk but you want a little… distraction, well, I’m here for that too.”

She shifted slightly and her thigh brushed against his, making him feel delightfully tingly. Marlene turned her head to look at him, and her lips looked more red, soft and enticing. She blinked and her long eyelashes kissed her cheeks, and suddenly Sirius wanted to feel them fluttering against his own skin. He leaned in, sighing into her lips, and her touch had him feeling relaxed for the first time all day. 

 


	15. Hold Your Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round: 7  
> Theme: Let's Sing and Dance  
> Type: Standard (950-2000 words)  
> Prompt: [Prompt] Rock out to the oldies
> 
> A/N: This is a modern university AU. It's pretty mild, but there are some descriptions of drug use, so head's up if that's not your thing.

Harry pushed the door to the house open, dreading the night a little bit. But he'd promised Ron a wild night out after his breakup, and he didn’t want to be a bad friend. Not that he really thought Ron was as cut up as he pretended to be, but that was fine. 

 

The party was being hosted by the brothers of the Praetorian Club, and he had been invited because his father had been a member. Now, they were trying very hard to recruit him. But Harry had no interest in joining an ultra-exclusive society dedicated to partying. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to be at university, but he didn’t know what else to do, and he’d been accepted. Besides it seemed like a good way to connect with his parents. They ought to have been giving him advice and helping him decide what to do, but a car crash had stolen their lives four years earlier, and Harry was left struggling to deal with the gaping hole they had left at the  time when he felt that he needed their guidance the most. 

 

Time seemed to crawl by as Harry watched drunk guys hit on drunk girls, all of them sloshing liquor onto the floor. Ron had found some girl to help mend his broken heart long ago, and Harry was starting to feel tempted to just leave and return to his flat. Parties had never really been his forte, and this one was especially dreadful. He didn’t want to leave Ron alone just yet, though - he could change his mind about the girl, or she could about him, and if that happened then Harry didn’t want his best friend to feel abandoned. So, he decided to give it another half an hour, and if nothing was different then, he’d head home.

 

Harry wandered upstairs, away from the pulsing echoes of whatever EDM song was blaring through the speakers. He ducked into one of the bedrooms and sat down on the bed. It was surprisingly neat and decorated mostly in various shades of yellow and cream. A small window faced the narrow alleyway between houses, and through it, Harry could see a light switched on in the person’s room, illuminating a bright pink and orange space. Curiosity tugged at him and he wandered over to the window. Through the two glass panes, Harry thought he could faintly hear the sound of The Beatles’  _ Eleanor Rigby _ over the pulsating beat from downstairs. A girl lounged on the bed atop a psychedelic orange and pink duvet, kicking her feet in the air and bobbing her head in time with the song as she flipped through the pages of a magazine. Harry smiled as he watched her, completely mesmerized. The song changed and the familiar snares of  _ Come Together _ danced in his ears. 

 

Suddenly, the girl looked up, her head turning toward the window. Her eyes narrowed slightly when she saw him, but he smiled and waved.  _ I like your music _ , he mouthed, and she grinned.  _ Come listen _ , she replied. Harry hesitated, and in that moment she smoothly rolled over onto her back, dipping her head off the edge of the mattress so her flame-red hair brushed the floor. The hem of her shirt rode up across her stomach, revealing creamy skin decorated with ink in shades of blue and green. She really was quite beautiful, and Harry felt an itch to see what the swirling lines of the tattoo might form if more was revealed. He made up his mind then and hurried from the room, feet pounding on the stairs.

 

Less than a minute later, Harry was knocking on the door of the neighbor’s house, his breath turning into little puffs of condensation on the night air. It didn’t take her long to answer to door, taking his hand and pulling him up to her bedroom. She was even more beautiful this close. She shut the door behind them and collapsed back onto the bed, picking up the magazine - which Harry could now see was a football magazine - once more.

 

“Make yourself comfortable,” she offered, patting the comforter beside her, and Harry sat tentatively on the bed. He was anything but comfortable.

 

“I’m Harry,” he said, the words sounding as stiff as he felt.

 

“Ginny,” she replied, rolling her eyes and reaching for the drawer of her nightstand. “Here, just relax.”

 

She handed him a joint, and Harry rolled it between his fingers idly. He didn’t smoke very often, but the relaxing effects did sound very appealing to him at that moment. He grabbed the lighter that was sitting on the nightstand, reaching across Ginny. She grabbed the lighter from him when he was finished, a lit a joint of her own, the two of them creating a haze of smoke around them.

 

Puff by puff, Harry felt his mind and body relaxing, and the environment around him began to shift. The notes of Joe Cocker’s  _ With A Little Help From My Friends _ began to blend together in his ears, Ginny’s melodic voice dancing with Cocker’s gravelly baritone as she discussed the intricacies of Premier League football (particularly noting the failings of Arsenal). Harry could have listened to her talk all night.

 

The colors in the room grew even brighter, and Harry felt like he was sitting inside a lava lamp. He lay back on the bed, his arm brushing against Ginny’s, and all he could think about was the way her skin against his made him feel like he had electricity flickering along every nerve, lighting him up like a firefly.

 

She sat up abruptly, cocking her head at him with an amused smile, and Harry realized that she was waiting for him to answer some question that he’d been too distracted to hear.

 

“Sorry, what?” he murmured, his green eyes wide and sad like world’s most apologetic puppy.

 

“I asked what you study,” Ginny chuckled, the sound making Harry’s heart flutter.

 

“Um, History and International Relations,” Harry replied glumly. He didn’t feel like getting into his uncertainty. “You?”

 

“Environmental Sciences and Social Anthropology,” she answered. 

 

Ginny talked a bit more about her studies and her plans for the future, and Harry opened up a bit, sharing some of his doubts and fears. He didn’t know if it was just the smoke floating through his mind but he felt oddly at ease talking to her. The songs melted together, creating the perfect backdrop of vibrant color and lively beats for their bonding session.

 

As the Beatles sang about the thrill of holding someone’s hand, Harry couldn’t help but feel their words echo through his mind like a pulse.  _ I want to hold your hand. I want to hold your hand. _ The words were so simple, but he couldn’t think of anything more true at the moment.  _ I want to hold your hand. _ Did he dare act on the impulse? As he was internally debating, Ginny reached out and intertwined her fingers with his, her thumb moving across his skin. Harry squeezed her hand just a little, just enough to show how happy he was with the action.

 

“What’s your tattoo of?” Harry asked, encouraged by the contact between them.

 

“Wanna see it?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, and Harry could have sworn he heard a dare in her voice.

 

He nodded, excitement swelling in his mind.

 

Ginny sat up and lifted her shirt up and over her head, tossing it onto the floor across the room with the rest of her laundry. Blooming across her ribcage, Harry could see a purple octopus with curling tentacles nestled in a garden of swirling seaweed and brightly colored anemones. It was all set against a beautiful background of blue watercolor, and Harry stared at it, mesmerized. It almost looked like the little garden on her ribs was swaying back and forth on whirling tides. He reached out to run his fingers over the work of art, admiring it, and he could feel Ginny sigh into his touch. 

 

Somewhere around four in the morning, Harry felt it was time to head back to his flat, or he would risk falling asleep in her bed. While he wasn’t at all opposed to that idea, he wasn’t sure that he was welcome, and even if he was, he wasn’t sure that it was in the best circumstances.

 

He said his goodbyes, and Ginny pulled him into a kiss that he was not likely to forget anytime in the near future (or probably ever, really). It was the kind of kiss that goes down in your own personal history as the best kiss of all time, the kind you dream about in your sleep, the kind that isn’t over even after you’ve parted company because no matter how many streets you put between you, your mind will remain engulfed in the fire of it.

 

As Harry walked down the streets to his flat, words he had heard earlier, sitting in Ginny’s room echoed over and over again in his mind, bringing a smile to his face as he felt their meaning to a degree he never had before.

 

_ I’ve just seen a face, _

_ I can’t forget the time or place _

_ Where we just met. _

_ She’s just the girl for me _

_ And I want all the world to see _

_ We’ve met, mm-mm-mm-m’mm-mm…* _

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I’ve Just Seen a Face by The Beatles, 1965


	16. Paradox Echo (Pt I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round: 8  
> Theme: Final Round  
> Restriction: 700-2000 words  
> Category: Crossovers  
> Prompt: Doctor Who

A high-pitched, pulsating whine whirred through the air, making everyone on the Quidditch pitch turn and look for the source of the noise. A tall blue box marked ‘Police’ had appeared under the far goalposts, much to everyone’s confusion. The seven Gryffindors touched down on the ground, following their captain as they drew closer to the strange box. The door opened with a sudden  _ bang _ , and a man with silver hair and angry eyebrows stumbled out.

“We’re in Scotland, I’m sure of it!” he shouted back towards the box. “The air smells like Scotland, well, it smells  _ almost  _ like Scotland.”

“So does that mean we’re not in Scotland at all?” a young woman asked, poking her head out of the door.

“No, we’re definitely in Scotland,” the man said, his voice drifting off as he noticed the seven Gryffindors standing and staring at them. “But perhaps a different Scotland…”

“What do you mean?” the young woman pressed, skipping out of the box to stand next to him. “Is this like New New York? New New Scotland?”

“No, I think… Clara, I think we might have gone to a parallel universe…” He was looking at her from the corner of his eyes, his voice low, as though he thought that if he were completely still and quiet enough, the seven Gryffindors might not notice him. 

“Doctor? What do you mean a  _ parallel universe _ ?” she hissed, placing her hands on her hips. She was tiny in stature, but her ferocity rivaled Ginny’s. “We can get home, right?”

“Probably,” the Doctor shrugged.

“Probably? We better be able to!” she threatened. “Danny’s going to kill me.”

“Oh, don’t worry about PE,” the Doctor dismissed, “maybe there’s a better one on this Earth.”

“He’s a maths teacher!”

“Um, excuse me,” Harry said, stepping forward at last. He’d had enough of their bickering and he wanted answers. “Who exactly are you? And how did you get here? You can’t Apparate into school grounds…”

“I’m the Doctor,” the man replied, turning his intense stare on Harry, “and this is — ”

“Clara Oswald,” the woman interjected, stepping forward and holding her hand out to shake.

“ — my companion,” the Doctor finished, and she shot him a look.

“We’re travelers,” Clara explained, “and we actually got here by accident. Would you mind telling us where we’ve ended up, and, er, when?”

“You’re at Hogwarts,” Harry said, suspicious of the new arrivals, “and it’s 1996.”

“What’s Hogwarts?” the Doctor asked, looking at the scenery around him as if he were searching for clues to something.

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” Harry answered.

“I thought all wizards knew about Hogwarts, especially the Scottish ones,” Ginny remarked snidely from his side. 

“Ah, we’re not wizards,” Clara replied with a smile. “Well, I’m not. He might be, if you expand your definition of wizard a bit… Not your type of wizard though, in any rate.”

Harry’s fingers tightened around his wand reflexively.

“What do you mean he’s not  _ my type  _ of wizard?”

“I just meant, well, he’s got two hearts and can put a kid to bed in a jiffy, but there’s no magic wand or pointy hat,” Clara said.

“He’s got two hearts?” Harry asked, incredulous. He thought he knew about all the humanoid beings, but he’d never heard of any with two hearts.

“Time Lord,” the Doctor answered, sounding bored. He was looking at the broomsticks they all held in their hands with curiosity.

“Ginny, go talk to Professor McGonagall, please; everyone else, back to the common room, practice is over,” Harry announced in his booming captain’s voice.

Demelza and Dean flanked Ginny as they walked away, leading Peakes and Coote. Ron stayed by Harry’s side for a moment longer, but after sharing a significant look, he departed in the direction of Hagrid’s hut. Harry knew he was using one of the many owls that often lingered there to send a message to Hermione.

“What did you mean when you said this was a parallel universe?” Harry asked, eyeing the newcomers with suspicion.

“Surely you know the theory of the multiverse?” the Doctor answered with about the same amount of care and attention as if he were swatting aside a bothersome fly.

“The what?”

“My god, your universe is primitive,” he huffed, clearly exasperated, and Harry felt his hackles rise a bit at the insult.

“Doctor!” Clara hissed, giving him a pointed look. 

“According to the theory of the multiverse, which is factual and not really a theory at all,” the Doctor explained, rolling his eyes slightly, “there exists infinite universes, all different from each other in small ways. For every decision that you make, there is a universe where you make a different one—these universes are considered to be parallel universes. They exist alongside each other, with no intersection, or path between them.”

“Then how did you get here?” Harry asked.

“I have the TARDIS,” the Doctor said, his answer clarifying absolutely nothing.

“It’s basically a time machine,” Clara explained. “It can move anywhere in time and space, and it’s bigger on the inside.”

“Oh now you’ve ruined it,” the Doctor whined loudly, and Clara shot him a glance that did absolutely nothing to deter him. “I look forward to people saying that every time, and now you’ve gone and ruined the surprise for the pudding-brain.”

“I wasn’t aware we were taking him for a ride,” she challenged.

“So, you’re telling me there are different worlds for every different situation?” Harry asked, returning to the topic at hand to make sure he understood.

“Yes, yes, one where there’s no magic, one where you wore a blue cape-thingy today instead of a red one, one where — ”

“My parents are alive,” Harry finished, and the Doctor immediately stopped talking.

“Yes,” Clara breathed after a long moment of silence.

“You can’t go there,” the Doctor said firmly. “I can’t take you there.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not… They’re not…” He seemed to be lost in his mind, as if he were traveling backward through the years and remembering something long ago shoved into some dark corner.

“Doctor?” Clara prompted softly.

“That’s how it started. A universe where Pete Tyler lived,” the Doctor said, talking more to himself than anyone else. “And then the Cybermen came, and the Daleks.”

“But you got rid of them,” Clara reminded him, her hand resting on his arm.

“And it cost everything,” he replied cryptically.

“What’s a Dalek?”

Hermione had appeared behind Harry, with Ron by her side. Harry didn’t know how much of the conversation they had heard, but he didn’t really care too much. There was nothing about this that they couldn’t know. And Hermione would be able to understand much more of this situation than he could.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” Clara intoned, shaking her head.

“What about in this universe?” Harry pressed. “Could you travel back in time in this universe?”

“I don’t know,” the Doctor said, angry eyebrows furrowing even closer together. “The rules are a bit trickier when you cross realms, I’ve never tried it before. I don’t even know how or why we got here yet. And I’m not in a rush to leave until I find out.”

“If I help you, will you take us?” Harry bargained. “Will you try?”

“Harry, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Hermione interrupted. Her voice was thick with concern, and Harry knew that if he looked back he was going to see the expression she wore so often around him these days. It was a mix of pity and worry, and it made him sick to his stomach.

“I have a chance, Hermione, I’m not going to let it go,” Harry snapped. 

“If you prove to be useful, I’ll try to take you,” the Doctor agreed. He walked away, muttering to himself and leaving behind Clara, Harry, Ron and Hermione.

“What are you going to do, Harry?” Hermione asked. “Try to kill Voldemort back then? Save your parents?”

“Of course he is,” Ron spoke at last, cutting of Harry as he whirled to face them. “Why shouldn’t he?”

“Because, it could change everything!” she hissed. “If he kills Voldemort back then, it would change the course of history.”

“But things would be better, Hermione,” Harry insisted.

“You don’t know that,” Hermione said.

“How could it possibly be worse?” Harry argued, wanting to scream. “All those people who wouldn’t die - you think that’s worse?”

“You don’t know what would happen, Harry,” she said, shaking her head. “What if it creates a paradox - if you kill Voldemort back then and your parents live, you’d be a different person, and then who goes back in time to kill him? None of the events that cause you to go back happen, so why would you? It’s an impossible loop, Harry, and I don’t know what happens then... and neither do you.”

“The universe explodes,” Clara interrupted, stepping forward. “Well, implodes, I guess, or both, I don’t really know. But it ceases to exist, rather violently. That’s what happens if you create a paradox of that magnitude. I don’t recommend it.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione blanched. 

“Fine,” Harry consented, nodding his head. “But at least let me go see them. They don’t have to know who I am, but just some time…”

“Won’t that be torture, mate?” Ron asked, blue eyes searching his best friend.

“Not more than sixteen years without ever knowing them,” Harry answered.

Ron and Hermione both nodded, accepting his words, but Harry didn’t miss the worried look exchanged between them. As long as they helped him, he didn’t care. He needed to do this.

 


	17. Graduation Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the final installment! :( The Houses competition is coming to an end (at least for the year), so this is likely to be the last update for a while. Thanks for following along and I hope you like the last story!
> 
> Round: 8  
> Theme: Final Round  
> Restriction: 700-2000 words  
> Category: Prompts  
> Prompt: Last day at school

“Can you believe we did it?” Sirius said, taking a long swig from the half-empty bottle of Firewhisky in his hand as he bounced the leg he had flung over the back of the sofa. He was the only one still wearing his graduation robes,  disheveled as they were, the rest of the Gryffindors having shed theirs as soon as the official celebrations had ended.

“It’s mad, we really aren’t students anymore,” James agreed, his arm thrown casually around Lily’s shoulders.

“Real life starts tomorrow,” Remus stated, making the others groan.

“No, I don’t even want to think about that,” Sirius denied, shaking his head.

“At least you all have jobs,” Peter sulked, biting at his lip anxiously.

“Don’t worry, something will come through soon, and you know McGonagall will help you however she can,” Lily said, trying to reassure him. 

“Maybe,” he sighed glumly.

“Jobs are hardly the most important thing anyway,” James said, and Remus and Lily both snorted into their drinks.

“Says the guy who has a big enough inheritance to live on for five lifetimes,” Remus mumbled, taking a large gulp of butterbeer.

“I don’t — “ James began to protest, but the others all snickered at him. “Fine, so what? I didn’t mean in that way, I just meant that… with all the crazy shit that’s happening right now, doesn’t all of that matter more than anything else?”

“There’s going to be a war,” Marlene said, her voice loud and clear and certain.

There was silence in response to her statement, no one quite sure what to say. In the stillness, an owl flew through the open window, clutching a handful of letters, and dropping one in the lap of each of the graduates.

“What is this?” Sirius asked, looking at the letter as if something foul had been dropped on him rather than a piece of parchment.

Ms. Evans,

Now that you have graduated and are no longer a student under my care, I wish to invite you to participate in a rather special project of mine.

As I’m sure you are aware, there is a dangerous shift taking place in society at the moment, one that I am most anxious to prevent. I am establishing an organization with this aim, and I think you would be a good fit. There is much more to be said on the matter, but none of it by letter. Should you decide that you would like to learn more, please attend a meeting per the details below.

June 28th, 20:15   
12 Victoria Rd, Aldbourne

Congratulations on your graduation.

  1. Dumbledore



Lily looked up when she had finished reading her letter allowed, glancing at the others for confirmation that their letters were the same. Everyone nodded — eight identical letters.

“What does it mean?” Mary asked, looking around the common room nervously.

“It means he’s forming an army,” Remus stated.

They exchanged curious glances, no one wanting to ask the question that was on the tip of all of their tongues.

“Should we go?” Dorcas said at last, giving voice to their shared curiosity.

“I guess that needs to be a personal decision,” Remus answered after a prolonged silence.

“Why wouldn’t you go?” Sirius scoffed, draining the last of his Firewhisky.

“Not everyone wants to be a soldier,” Peter replied defensively. “Some of us might not be all that keen to die.”

“Not fighting won’t keep you safe, Peter,” Lily said softly. She could understand his reticence, but they were all fooling themselves if they thought any of them could be safe by staying out of this war. Well, maybe James and Sirius could, their family names might protect them. But what use was being safe if all your friends were dead?

“I know that, but…” he trailed off, almost as though he wasn’t sure what his objection was. “We’re only eighteen, what use could we possibly be in a war? We’ve just graduated, we don’t know anything beyond what we’ve learned in school. You and Mary are going on your Healers course, but you don’t know anything beyond how to heal a cut right now. Sirius wants to be an Auror, but he hasn’t started any of the training, and James is going to play Quidditch, which to be honest is about as useful as being a Muggle. What do any of us know about fighting against dark magic, against people with darkened souls? We’d be cannon fodder, that’s all.”

“Someone has to be,” Remus said sadly.

“And that’s enough for you?” James challenged. “You’re ready to die, just like that?”

“If it means protecting everyone else,” Remus answered, heat rising in his cheeks.

“I’ll be killed even if I don’t fight, just for being a Muggleborn,” Lily said, lifting her chin defiantly. “I might as well die doing something useful.”

“You’re not going to die  _ at all _ ,” James growled, his arm tightening around her reflexively.

“I understand not wanting to die,” Marlene interjected, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. “But it’s really more a question of right and wrong.”

“All that’s needed for evil to triumph is that good men do nothing,” Mary mused quietly, more to herself than anyone else.

“What was that?” James said, his head whipping around to face her.

“It’s something Kennedy said a while back. Mum thought it was brilliant,” Mary replied with a shrug. “Seems appropriate though.”

“Look, if we all join up together, we can protect each other,” Dorcas reasoned. “We’ll all have each other’s backs, and hopefully we can decrease the risk of anyone dying. Maybe we can all get through this.”

Sirius shook his head.

“There’s no way we all make it out alive,” he said. “But I’ll take one person surviving over none.”

“So we’re all going to fight?” Lily clarified.

“Yeah,” James answered with a nervous look around. “Yeah, we’re all doing this together.”

“Cheers to that,” Sirius said sourly, grabbing Remus’ butterbeer and downing it in one.

None of them had anticipated that they would be spending their last few hours at Hogwarts contemplating mortality and the complications that were arising for their futures. But the impending war was changing everything, and if they didn’t do something, they would lose their whole world to it.

 


	18. The Ties that Bind Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Term 11
> 
> Prompt: Write about someone adopted.

Walburga Black had been raised in a very traditional family, the kind of such noble birth and inherited wealth that ensured that neither she or her family would ever have to work for a day in their lives. She was born and bred to be a wife, a mother, and a society woman. The perfect hostess in every respect. A great deal was expected of her in the respect, and she was aware of it from the day she turned five years old and her family announced her betrothal to Orion. 

But Walburga couldn’t have children. She had been married to Orion for more than seven years, and she had done her best to get pregnant, but it never happened. No matter what she did, Walburga just couldn’t bear a child for her husband. She became stressed out and depressed, and felt like a constant failure. What was she if she couldn’t bear a son to carry on her husband’s name?

It was her mother that suggested adoption. Irma had seen her daughter floundering and losing her way, and thought that having a child to care for might help. They all knew that it wouldn’t be the same. This child wouldn’t be a piece of her body, it wouldn’t carry the noble blood that had flowed through her veins for centuries. But they could raise him to be one of them, and perhaps it would be almost as fulfilling. 

Walburga was skeptical about the whole thing, and when the little baby boy was placed in her arms, she did her best to love him. 

o . o . o

The first two years of Sirius’ life were very happy, not that he would have remembered them. His parents didn’t exactly dote on him, but that wasn’t the way their society functioned. But they hired a nanny who did dote on him, and they seemed to like him well enough. His mother spent time with him every day, usually to read him a story (often extolling the virtues of nobility), and his father looked in on him every night before bed. They loved him, if in their own way.

But on his second birthday, Walburga Black experienced a miracle, and discovered that she was carrying a child. It flipped Sirius’ world upside down. He was moved to a smaller bedroom, darker and more dingy, so that the nursery could be redone before the new baby arrived. 

o . o . o

Sirius didn’t know what made him so different from his brother. He could never figure out why his parents seemed to despise him so much. What had he done to earn their hatred? He couldn’t understand why his parents always said that his brother was the heir to their fortune, but in every other family he knew, it was the oldest son who inherited.

For years, Sirius tried to do everything he could to make his parents happy. He did well with his studies, and he dressed the way they wanted (even though he hated the stiff, itchy clothes). He was always polite and tried never to speak out of turn. But no matter what he did, his mother yelled at him, and his father simply ignored his presence. He even tried to get along with his brother all the time, as difficult as it was sometimes.

Once, when he was eight, Sirius wondered if maybe it was because he didn’t look much like his family. His mother had a round face, flawless porcelain skin, and white blonde hair. His father looked much the same, but with dirty blond hair. Both were stout, and of average height. Regulus had light auburn hair, but otherwise he was the spitting image of their parents, with fair skin and a round face, and a somewhat shorter build, although he was much thinner than either of them. 

Sirius, on the other hand, had a mass of wild, jet back curls, olive-toned skin and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks. He was taller than his peers and lean, and sometimes Regulus called him stringbean when he wanted to annoy him. 

o . o . o

When Sirius got to Hogwarts, he half hoped he would be sent to Slytherin. Maybe it would be the thing that finally earned his parents love. But the Sorting Hat was not so kind, and sent him to Gryffindor instead. He couldn’t fathom why - he never felt particularly brave or courageous. But supposedly, the Sorting Hat knew the answer for everyone.

He shared a room with three other boys, but he only knew one of them. James Potter was from a similar background to him - not quite as lofty, as the Potters had distanced themselves from the aristocratic society somewhat, and ran in more varied circles. Sirius had met James a few times, but they had never really clicked before, and it didn’t seem likely that it would change now. And the other two boys were complete strangers, which left Sirius feeling more apprehensive than ever.

His parents made their displeasure at Sirius’ sorting well known, their lack of communication laced with frostiness. When Sirius finally went home for the Christmas break, he was met with a contempt that he had not encountered before. He didn’t miss Regulus’ eyes as they blew wide in surprise when Walburga struck her eldest son for the first time in his life. 

Sirius went back to school with a faded bruise staining the edge of his cheekbone, and a new attitude. He had been doing the same things for years, hoping that one day it would be enough for them. He had bent over backwards for years, trying to be the perfect son so that they would love him. Over and over again, he had tried to be who he thought they wanted, and he failed every time. So why try anymore? If they weren’t going to love him anyway, he might as well be himself. At least then they could hate the real him, instead of a mask that he wore every day.

Remus was the first of his dorm-mates to befriend Sirius and welcome him into their little group of friends. That was really his personality to a T - the first to forgive, the first to welcome, the first to encourage. Peter followed soon after, mostly because he couldn’t stop himself from laughing at all of Sirius’ stupid jokes and silly antics. James was the most skeptical - he knew enough about the Black family’s reputation, and Sirius hadn’t exactly done much to shirk it in the first few months of term. But eventually, even he was won over, and they became the most tight night quartet that Hogwarts had seen since the Founders.

o . o . o

As the years continued, Sirius grew into himself, exploring every facet of his being until he felt confident in who he was. It wasn’t without challenges. He annoyed people frequently, and not every appreciated his humor. Teachers thought he was too rambunctious, and his classmates sometimes found him disruptive. His relationship with his parents was more strained than ever, and his relationship with Regulus often suffered as a result.

Sirius had never been especially close to his brother, initially because his parents had kept them apart, and then later because he resented the affection Regulus got from their parents. But as he got older, Sirius felt bad about that. Whatever the cause of his parents’ animosity towards him, it was Regulus’ fault. And he supposed that Regulus suffered in his own way - the weight of all their parents’ hopes, dreams and ambitions bearing down on his shoulders. He tried to make things better between them, but maybe it had just been too many years.

Even though Sirius had long ago stopped trying to do things to win over his parents, it didn’t mean that he hadn’t amassed a few notable achievements. And every time it stung just a little bit more when his parents didn’t care, eating away another piece of his bond to them. What broke Sirius, though, was when Regulus had been named the top student in his year. It was a title Sirius had earned twice, and neither time had he been recognized by his family.

He watched his parents fawn over his younger brother during dinner, praising their son as if he had single handedly rid the world of evil. Sirius felt something snap inside of him, thinking of all his ignored milestones and achievements, thinking of all the indifference with which he had been treated for so many years.

“Why do you hate me so much?” Sirius burst out, yelling across the dinner table, unable to hold back the hurt any longer. “I’m your son, why -”

“You were  _ never _ my son!” Walburga shrieked, her face contorted with rage. “Did you really think that you, you cretin, you…  _ mongrel _ , could have come from  _ my _ blood?”

Sirius took a step back, feeling his world shattering around him and crashing down around his ears.

“What does that mean?” he asked, half knowing the answer and half not wanting to hear it.

“They adopted you,” Regulus whispered from the doorway, and Sirius whipped his head around, curls flying. “They told me a while ago.”

“You never told me?” Sirius hissed, the betrayal stinging to his core.

“You were never the son we wanted,” Walburga sneered. “A placeholder, a backup, but never our flesh and blood. You never should have had our name. We should have gotten rid of you as soon as Regulus was born.”

“Mother!” Regulus snapped, but it was too late. The damage had been done. 

In truth, it had been years in the making, but her words snapped the last ties that connected Sirius to his family, and the decision was made instantly.

“Well you don’t have to worry anymore then, I won’t ever consider myself your son again,” Sirius said as he backed away, throwing his hands up in a gesture that was far more casual than he felt, his heart beating a violent staccato against his ribs. “And with any luck, you many never have to see me again.”

He turned on his heel and ran up the stairs, tossing a few meager belongings into a bag. In truth, he didn’t want anything from his parents, but he had a few possessions that had been given to him by his friends, or that he had earned or bought himself. He finished within a minute, and climbed through the window, grabbing the eaves and hauling himself onto the roof. Sirius closed his eyes and twisted, and with an unpleasant  _ pop _ , he felt himself squeezing through the atmosphere until his feet touched down on the familiar soil of Godric’s Hollow.

 


	19. Charlie's Kids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HP Houses Challenge, Year 5
> 
> Drabble  
> Prompt: Charlie Weasley

Charlie opened the invitation that Nyctea had dropped off, absentmindedly scratching the alabaster feathers on her head. He recognized Hermione’s neat script adorning the simple embossed card.

 

Mr. Harry J. Potter 

and 

Miss Ginevra M. Weasley

 

request your presence

at their wedding

 

Saturday, June 14th

The Burrow

4pm

 

Please RSVP by owl at your earliest convenience.

 

No fuss, no muss, the invitation was Harry and Ginny to a T. Charlie knew that there was some pressure on them to have a big society affair, given their reputations, but that wouldn’t have been them. He felt another card in the envelope and pulled it out.

 

Please indicate your attendance below.

 

Name ______________________

Yes _______     No ________

No. of Guests ________

 

Please note that kids are welcome.

 

Charlie began filling out the card without hesitation, drawing a little check mark next to ‘Yes’. But as he moved toward the line below, his eyes drifted to the final line of the card.  _ Kids are welcome _ … No doubt it was for Teddy and Victoire, since there weren’t really any other kids… yet. An idea started to form in Charlie’s mind, something he thought Harry and Ginny would thoroughly enjoy…

 

o - o - o

Five months later…

o - o - o

 

The Burrow was decked out for Harry and Ginny’s wedding. Golden streamers hung from the rafters of the snow white tent, golden balloons decorated the aisle, even the air seemed to shimmer with golden specks of sunlight. Charlie thought the entire setup was magnificent. 

 

He had insisted on staying at the Leaky Cauldron and apparating over for the wedding, claiming that the Burrow was overcrowded and he didn’t want to be in the way. Truthfully, Charlie just wanted to be able to execute his plan with the proper amount of surprise.

 

When three o’clock rolled around, Charlie pulled on his linen suit,  gathered everything he needed, and set off for the Burrow. As he approached the house, he felt excitement rising, anticipating the reactions ahead of him.

 

He knew exactly what his mum was going to say.

 

“Did you bring anyone special with you, Charlie?” Mrs. Weasley intoned as he walked into the back yard, looking at him like a puppy waiting for a treat. Merlin, the woman had seven kids, you’d think she wouldn’t care so much if  _ one  _ of them didn’t settle down. But no, Molly Weasley had a vision, and that was of all of her children married with seven kids of their own, and all 65 people huddled around the radio at Christmas listening to Celestina Warbeck.

 

“Well, I’ve brought the kids with me,” Charlie answered quickly, without a hint of caprice.

 

“Oh yes, of course,” his mum replied automatically, before registering his words. “What kids? Charlie, you haven’t got…”

 

Her mouth dropped as her eyes drifted over his shoulder.

 

“CHARLIE WEASLEY!” she shrieked. “Charlie those are NOT children! Those are… those are dragons! In tuxedos!”

 

“I’ve no idea what you mean,” Charlie replied deadpan. “It’s not very nice to call Bertie and Hadrian dragons, they’re perfectly well behaved. And Wilhelmina is wearing a dress, you shouldn’t lump her in with her brothers.”

 

“Her - Bertie - dress,” Molly stammered, unable to make any sense of what was in front of her.

 

Charlie strolled right past his mother, three little Ridgebacks tottering along behind him. He could see that his little family was eliciting a lot of unusual and amused looks from the other wedding guests, but that didn’t bother him at all. Charlie had been on the receiving end of curious looks for most of his life. He found a seat in the first row of chairs, where all the family was supposed to sit, and made himself comfortable.

 

“Wilhelmina! Bertie! Come here guys, come sit with Daddy,” he cooed, holding out his arms toward the dragons. “You too, Hadrian!”

 

Squawking slightly, the dragons waddled over to him, flapping their tiny wings as they tried to jump into his lap. They launched themselves at his legs, dull baby talons grasping for purchase as they slipped down, but Charlie reached his hands down to help them, lifting them safely into his lap. Hadrian and Wilhelmina circled around a few times, and then plopped down, more or less on top of each other, and nestled their snouts under their wings to sleep. Bertie, on the other hand, sat alert and attentive, watching all the movements of the wedding with curiosity.

 

Everyone waited patiently for the ceremony to start, the tent gradually filling up with all their closest friends and family. Not long after he had taken his seat, elegant music began to swell, and a procession of people marched in.  Harry stood at the front, Ron beside him, watching with eyes full of emotion as Ginny appeared in front of all of them, her attention fixed solely on him.

 

Just as Ginny reached the front of the aisle, nearly level with the first row, Bertie let out a long  _ screech _ , smoke billowing from his nostrils  and sparks drifting into the air . For a moment, everyone was silent, and Charlie could feel his heart pounding against his ribs. But then Harry burst out laughing, and Ginny was quick to follow. She was nearly doubled over in laughter, her hands on her knees and tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. Bertie stared at her with his head cocked to one side, confusion written across the dragon’s features, as if he had just said something of the utmost seriousness and couldn’t understand why anyone would laugh at him. Ginny stumbled the last few steps and Harry reached out toward her to pull her closer to him and support her, both of them hiccuping with laughter.

 

“Sorry, he’s in the terrible twos,” Charlie shrugged semi-apologetically, eliciting raucous laughter from the rest of the wedding guests.

 

“Don’t apologize, I love him,” Ginny cooed through her mirth.

 

“Besides, it’s not a Weasley gathering without some fireworks, is it?” Harry added, grinning.

  
“Definitely not,” Ginny agreed.  “Best wedding ever.”


	20. Worth Knowing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HP Houses Challenge Year 5  
> Round 1 Standard  
> Prompt: Poppy Pomfrey

Like most students, Remus Lupin was eleven years old when he met Poppy Pomfrey for the first time. Everyone else typically met her because they got sick, a spell went wrong, or they missed home. She would provide them with potions or salves or spells to heal whatever ailed them, and send them on their way when they were ready. But Remus was a very different story.

 

Albus Dumbledore brought Remus to Poppy’s office on September 2nd, first thing in the morning. He was a quiet and shy eleven year old, but incredibly intelligent. Poppy could tell right away that this was a child with immense curiosity, but something always held him back. Even as he got older, Poppy would think the same thing. A remarkable man who always kept himself from realizing his full potential.

 

“Poppy, I’d like you to meet Remus Lupin,” Dumbledore had said on that first day. “Mr. Lupin is, you see, a werewolf.”

 

Shock flooded her body, but also sorrow. She couldn’t help but feel sad for this little boy whose life had been cruel, and she could only imagine it would continue. He certainly did not deserve such a life. She knew the kind of persecution and prejudice werewolves faced, and while it seemed unfair for anyone, it was particularly unjust for the quiet eleven year old boy who stood in front of her.

 

“I have taken precautions so that he may be here, learning in the midst of his peers,” Albus continued. “But I know that no matter how much I prepare, he will likely spend a great deal of his time in this ward. I would like you to do everything in your power to help him and make him comfortable, especially around the time of his transformations.”

 

“When do I not do everything in my power?” Poppy answered coolly, but she regarded Remus with kind curiosity. “Headmaster, would you leave Mr. Lupin with me for a while? I would like to get to know each other a bit better.”

 

“Of course,” Albus replied, dipping his head. “His first period is free, but please see to it that he gets to class on time.”

 

Albus swept from the room with his lilac robes billowing behind him, and the door to the infirmary closed with a heavy  _ thunk _ . 

 

“Hello, Remus,” Poppy said with a smile. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

 

As she spoke, two comfortable armchairs appeared in the corner of her spacious office, with a little table set in between. Remus took one of the chairs obediently, and Poppy sat in the other, observing him keenly.

 

“So,” she started simply, trying to find a way to bond, “are you excited for school? Or perhaps a little nervous?”

 

Remus nodded, and Poppy noticed him chewing at his lip slightly.

 

“Well, I happen to know it’ll be wonderful,” she said. “All the kids I see come through here and not one of them has ever hated it.”

 

“I bet none of them were monsters like me,” he whispered under his breath.

 

Poppy could sense the self-loathing beating inside the little body, like a second heart hammering away at his soul.

 

“I’ve never had any werewolves, you are correct,” Poppy admitted to him. “But I have seen my fair share of monsters roam these halls, and believe me, Remus, you aren’t one of them.”

 

He gave her a pitying smile. She couldn’t tell if it was because he’d likely heard those words spoken a million times and never believed them, or if he thought he would prove her wrong in time.

 

“Is there anything that you like, something that I can make sure I keep stocked for you?” Poppy asked, changing course.

 

“Chocolate,” Remus answered without hesitation.

 

“Did you know that dogs are allergic to chocolate?” she said without really thinking. It was such a habit to spout little fun facts to her students, a way to make them more comfortable.

 

“Yeah,” he said, and his expression caused Poppy to have a stark realization.

 

_ That’s why he likes it _ , she thought to herself. This boy not only hated himself, but it appeared he had somewhat of a self-destructive streak. This would be more difficult than she first anticipated.

 

“Alright,” she conceded. “I’d like you to spend some time here, if you don’t mind, when you aren’t ill. It’ll make it more normal for your friends when you do have to spend time here if you have regular appointments with me.”

 

“I don’t have any friends,” Remus replied, and Poppy instinctively knew that he wasn’t saying that he hadn’t made any friends yet, but rather that he didn’t want to have any friends at all.

 

“Well, you will, and they won’t find it as strange if you meet me regularly,” Poppy reasserted.

 

“Fine, what will we do?” Remus asked, a bit huffy. “Weekly checkups?”

 

“No, I was thinking more along the lines of private lessons,” she said, watching for the gleam of curiosity in his eyes. “You could help me around the hospital wing, and I could teach you some of the ins and outs of healing. What do you think?”

 

“I’d like that,” he admitted sheepishly.

 

“I might even be able to help teach you some things that would make your transformations easier,” she mused. “I’ll have to look into it a bit, and you’ll need to work hard at your spellwork. Can you do that?”

 

Remus nodded, and she knew he wasn’t just doing it for her. This boy loved to learn, she could tell, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he finished the year top of his class.

 

“Excellent, I’m glad to hear it. Now hurry along, you don’t want to be late for class. I’ll speak to Professor Dumbledore and arrange some time in your schedule.”

 

“Thank you,” Remus said earnestly. “Er - I’m sorry, what are you called again?”

 

“Well, mostly I’m called Madam Pomfrey,” she grinned, “but seeing as we’ll be spending so much time together, you can call me Poppy.”

 

She watched him leave and thought to herself that this was a student that she could truly help, not just for a day or two, but for his entire life.

 


	21. Study Dates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts Houses Challenge Year 5 
> 
> Category: Drabble  
> Prompt: [Setting] Hogwarts Library  
> Word Count: 1000

Hermione stood from her table with a sigh. She was missing one of the books she needed to write McGonagall's essay, and she couldn't imagine how she missed it earlier. Maybe it was checked out? But the register showed that it was there… She huffed in frustration and made her way to the appropriate aisle.

As Hermione ran her fingers over the spines of the books that lined each shelf, searching for the one she needed, she had an eerie feeling that she was being watched. The hair on the back of her neck was standing on end, and she had a prickling sensation in the back of her mind. She whipped around, trying to discover the source of her discomfort.

At the table closest to the bookshelves, with a clear view of Hermione, sat Viktor Krum. His eyes were trained on her, unwavering in their focus. Even from several meters away, she could see the intensity in his expression, and she could feel a blush rising on her cheeks. She tried to ignore him, but her eyes kept flicking back to where he sat.

_Basic Principles of Vanishing. Viktor. Advanced Vanishing Methods. Viktor. Varnaud's Vanishing Volume. Viktor._

It was a steady rhythm in her mind, beating back and forth. Each time she glanced over at him, he was still staring at her. With a deep sigh, Hermione returned to her table and started packing up her belongings. She would have to go back to the Common Room, because she would never be able to focus here.

"Excuse me?"

His deep voice startled Hermione, and she jumped a mile high, dropping her books with a loud thud and banging her knee painfully on the chair.

"H-hi," she stammered, silently cursing herself for sounding so vapid.

"I vos vondering if you vanted to study vith me?" Krum asked in his thick accent.

"Oh, well, I was actually just leaving," Hermione replied, not entirely sure why she was declining. He was handsome, to be sure, and she supposed that if he had been chosen as the Durmstrang champion, he was at least moderately intelligent.

"You are done already?" he said, his expression knowing. "You did not seem done over there, looking for books."

"Well, no, I'm not finished exactly," Hermione admitted, feeling a slight blush tinging her cheeks. "But I should be getting back to my dormitory before it gets too late."

"Perhaps another time, Miss...?" he asked, eyebrows raised hopefully.

"Granger." She smiled. "Hermione. And I suppose another night would be alright."

"I look forward to it," Krum replied, reaching for her hand and leaning down to press the lightest of kisses to it.

"Right, well, goodnight," Hermione said, more breathless than she would have liked.

She grabbed the strap of her bag and hauled it over her shoulder, and Krum picked up her stack of books and handed it to her.

"Goodnight, Miss Herm-own-ninny," he said, offering her the smallest of bows and stepping back in a gesture that allowed her to withdraw without feeling as though she was leaving him.

As she left the library, Hermione felt giddy, and she tried - and failed - to resist the temptation to look back over her shoulder. Krum was still there, watching her departure, and she could see him smile when she turned around, obviously pleased that she demonstrated some attachment.

o . o . o

Hermione met Viktor in the library most nights, often just by unspoken agreement that they would both be there. Most nights they sat in a comfortable silence, working on their respective assignments, and occasionally asking each other the odd question. Hermione typically probed Viktor for knowledge - what had he learned? What was Durmstrang like? How had Grindelwald's rise affected his country? Viktor, on the other hand, mostly asked about her - what did she like to do? Did she want to travel? What were some of her favourite things? It was a companionable partnership, and Hermione found that she quite enjoyed studying with him.

Almost two weeks into their regular study dates, Dumbledore announced that the school would be hosting a Yule Ball, as was traditional during the Triwizard Tournament. Girls began chattering excitedly about everything from their dates to their dress robes. The boys seemed markedly less enthusiastic; a few of them - including Harry and Ron - looked positively nauseated by the news. Hermione wasn't immediately sure that she would stay for the ball. She missed her family and they would be disappointed not to see her. She didn't really think anyone would ask her to the ball anyway. Not that she needed to wait for someone to ask her, she was perfectly capable of doing the asking, but… well, she wanted to feel wanted, and she very much doubted that would happen. Nevertheless, Hermione couldn't shake the image of herself in some beautiful dress dancing with Viktor as she walked back to the Common Room. She didn't feel much like studying that night, more keen to go to sleep early and see where her dreams would take her.

The next night, when Hermione arrived at the library, Viktor was already there, waiting. He seemed a little agitated, and Hermione wondered if something had happened with the tournament. Perhaps there had been a setback in decoding the second clue? She knew better than to ask. The tournament was something they never discussed.

"Herm-own-ninny," he burst suddenly, his eyes fixing on hers with intensity. "Vill you accompany me to the ball?"

"Me?" Hermione squeaked, taken aback. "You don't want me, I'm sure anyone would be happy to go with you, Viktor."

"You vould not be happy to go vith me?" he asked, his disappointment clear.

"No, I would be!" she hurried to correct. "But I'm sure you could ask someone better, someone prettier…"

"You are beautiful," Viktor insisted, reaching out for Hermione's hand.

"But you could ask anyone…" she protested.

"I don't vant anyone," Viktor stated, his eyes filled with conviction. "I vant you."

"Alright then," Hermione agreed, her heart leaping.


	22. A Furry Little Problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts Houses Challenge  
> House: Eagles  
> Subject: DADA  
> Category: Standard  
> Prompt: [Speech] "I think I'm allergic to you."   
> Word Count: 1556
> 
> Hogwarts School Term 11  
> House: Gryffindor  
> Prompt: [First Aid, Task Two] Write about an allergy.

Lily sneezed.

Her eyes started to water, and she couldn't for the life of her figure out why. Two seconds earlier she had been completely fine, and then Sirius had walked in and now she felt like her skin was on fire, and she wished she could tear it off. She sneezed again, snot clogging her nostrils.

"Lily?" Marlene asked, furrowing her eyebrows in concern. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she insisted, scratching at her neck.

"Really, because you look like you want to claw your face off…" Marlene replied, clearly skeptical.

"I don't know what's going on, I usually only get like this when there's a dog around," Lily said.

"Someone must've been down at Hagrid's playing with Fang," Marlene shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, I've gotta get out of here, otherwise I'm never gonna get any studying done." Lily packed up her books and grabbed her bag as she stood.

Once she was out of the library, her symptoms subsided almost immediately. Lily couldn't fathom what the cause could be, it was just so bizarre.

o . o . o

She felt his presence before she even saw Sirius enter the room, her skin beginning to crawl and a tickle building in her nose.

"Sirius!  _Achoo!_ Get away -  _achoo -_ from me! Please!" Lily begged, trying to stifle her sneezes as Sirius approached the table where she was sitting.

"Merlin Evans, what's your damage?" Sirius snapped, flashing her an irritated look.

"I think I'm allergic to you," Lily said miserably, wiping tears from her eyes. " _Achoo_!"

"What?"

"I don't know," she moaned, rubbing at her eyes again. "I don't know why, but suddenly every time you get within five feet of me it's like I'm being suffocated by a pillow of dog fur! I can't take it anymore, Sirius! I just want to go one day without -  _achoo!"_

Sirius looked at her with wide eyes. He hadn't known Lily was allergic to dogs. Not that there would be much changing their predicament - he hadn't known that his animagus form would turn him into a dog, and even if he had, it wouldn't have stopped him from doing it. But it did upset him that she was so miserable. For all he teased her (and she badgered him right back), Lily was his friend, and he never wanted to be the source of her discomfort.

"You can't possibly be allergic to me, Evans! It's not possible," Sirius argued, keeping a shred of hope alive that maybe she was mistaken about the cause of her troubles.

She sneezed twice in short succession in answer to his statement, and when she opened her eyes, they were red and watery. She looked almost as if she had a bad case of the flu.

"Please, Sirius," Lily begged, sniffling loudly.

"Okay, okay," he conceded, pushing back from the table and collecting his things. "Feel better, I guess."

"I will once you're about fifty metres away," Lily mumbled under her breath. She watched as he ducked out of the portrait hole, undoubtedly off to find James, and tried to breathe more steadily, letting the air pass through her slowly clearing nasal passage.

o . o . o

Sirius burst into the library, his mind whirring as he tried to figure out what to do. He couldn't very well spend the next two and a half years making Evans sneeze non-stop every time they were in the same room. James was sitting in the back of the library, as he usually did, bent over the table with his hand fisted in his hair in concentration. It was his customary pose whenever he was grappling with a particularly difficult assignment, and the sight almost made Sirius turn around. But no matter how difficult the essay was, this problem was definitely more important. He plopped down into the chair across from his best friend and dropped his bag on the table with a heavy  _thunk_. James didn't look up, even when Sirius began tapping his fingertips impatiently on the tabletop. With a heavy sigh, Sirius resolved himself to break the silence.

"Hey James," he whispered. "I think I've got a problem."

"Just ask him out already," James mumbled, focused on his essay.

"What?" Sirius asked, confused.

"Nevermind," James sighed. Evidently the problem was that Sirius was still completely unaware of his own feelings, but James wasn't going to be the one to break the news to him. "What's your issue?"

"Apparently Evans is allergic to dogs," Sirius answered under his breath.

"So?" James replied, trying very hard to seem nonchalant at the mention of his crush.

" _So_ in case you haven't noticed, lately I've started turning into a big hairy dog some nights!" Sirius hissed. "Last I checked, you've been right there with me in all your cervine glory!"

"So you're saying she's allergic to you?" James clarified.

"Yes! Apparently that particular trait sticks with me even when I'm not transformed."

"Merlin," James swore, running his hands haphazardly through his hair. "Well what are you going to do?"

"I don't know, I was kind of hoping you would help me figure that out," Sirius snapped. "That's what I came here for - you know I'm not the library type."

"Right, well, maybe…" James thought carefully, trying to remember some kind of spell or charm that would help them.

"Do you think I did it wrong?" Sirius asked, chewing on his lip in a rare show of apprehension.

"Did what wrong?"

"The animagus spell. Do you think I got it wrong somehow, and that's why -"

"No," James said firmly. "You did it exactly the same as me and Peter. I'm sure it's just one of the peculiarities of the condition. You'll see, in time we'll all find that we have traits that carryover. That's probably in part what matched us to our forms in the first place."

"I didn't always make people sneeze uncontrollably!" Sirius hissed.

"Of course you didn't," James pacified. "I think allergies are usually caused by the dandruff, maybe there's a charm that can take care of that."

"What if we could cast some kind of charm so that I never lose fur or something," Sirius suggested, his expression desperate.

"You might end up a gigantic furball," James teased, trying to lighten the mood, but he only succeeded in making Sirius groan in frustration.

"This is hopeless!"

"Maybe you should ask Professor McGonagall," James suggested. "She turns into a cat, I bet she's had this problem before."

"Right, and clue her in on us all being unregistered animagi," Sirius scoffed.

"Honestly, I think she's probably already guessed it," James shrugged. "After all of our 'hypothetical' questions… she's not stupid, you know."

"Alright, fine, I'll ask her."

o . o . o

Sirius took a deep breath as he raised his fist to knock on the door of Professor McGonagall's office. He wasn't at all confident about this, but he couldn't see any other options. Sirius usually had no problem flouting the rules, and he didn't mind a detention or ten, but being an unregistered animagus was a different story altogether. And he wouldn't be the only one that got in trouble either. But he just couldn't continue to torment Evans.

"Professor McGonagall?" Sirius called out as he knocked on her door.

"Come in," she replied, and the heavy door swung open, pulled ajar by her invitation.

Sirius stepped into her office and shut the door behind her, taking a seat in the armchair in front of her desk.

"How can I help you, Mr. Black?" Professor McGonagall asked, and Sirius had to suppress a shudder at the use of his surname, as he always did.

"I have a question for you," he said.

"I presumed as much," she replied, staring intently at him. "Go on."

"It's a bit hypothetical," Sirius began. "I was thinking about animagi, and something occurred to me. What if someone were to take a form that others were allergic to? Your form is feline, and lots of people are allergic to cats. What do you do?"

"Well, typically animagi do not cause the same reaction in others," Professor McGonagall explained, adjusting her spectacles. "As they are magical beings, and not your average animal, they do not usually possess the same allergens in their physical form. However, in some situations, the transformed state of an animagus is so strong, that they take on even more of the physical properties of their form, which can include allergens. For those who experience this, there is a rather simple spell -  _reprimere irritans_. It is cast upon the animagus, and is typically permanent, but if it does wear off, it can be recast with no issue. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes, Professor," Sirius replied, feeling a great deal of relief. "Mostly, at least. Is it possible for people to be allergic to animagi, even when they're human?"

"I suppose," she answered thoughtfully. "If the connection was strong enough, that it would be possible for traces of any allergens to remain. But the spell should resolve that as well."

"Thank you, Professor," Sirius said sincerely, feeling more relieved than he ever had after a conversation with one of his teachers. He excused himself from her office and made a beeline back to the library, hoping to find James there. He had gotten answers and now he had a plan.


	23. A Government of Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HP Houses Challenge, Year 5
> 
> Round 3 Drabble  
> Prompt: [Setting] Newsroom

Tom Criquetter had a fantastic name for journalism - it was easy to pronounce, but memorable, and all in all sounded  _ very  _ English. And importantly, there was a story behind it, which had trained him in the art of storytelling from the age of three (precisely). So it had been no surprise to anyone when Tom had joined the Hogwarts Mirror, the student run newspaper, or when he became the youngest editor ever as a fifth year. Tom was, without question, a fantastic writer, and when he finished his NEWTs, he was immediately snapped up by the Daily Prophet for a staff writing position. In little time at all, he rose through the ranks, until he was a junior editor, in charge of the feature pieces. He worked with a good staff and liked everyone else. Barnabas Cuffe ran the paper as a whole - a good man, if a little preoccupied with connecting to people he deemed of great import. Sally Hensforth ran the sports section, Mertin Lee ran the Arts & Entertainment section, and Rita Skeeter - the bane of Tom’s existence - had control over the Social section. But for the most part, it was a good team, and Tom enjoyed his job.

On Tom’s thirty-third birthday, however, things changed. He had been out to dinner with his wife when an owl had arrived at their table, dropping a hastily-written note before flying off. Sally had been covering the finale of the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts for the next day’s edition, and at first Tom thought that she might be asking for help getting her article finished in time. Instead, he found several words which were most alarming.

_ Cedric Diggory is dead. Potter says You-Know-Who is back. _

There was nothing else to the note, but Tom didn’t need any other information to know that this would need urgent attention. He made his excuses to his wife, but she was used to it and didn’t mind in the least, and then stepped out into the alleyway to Apparate to Hogsmeade. It took Tom two hours of interviewing to feel like he’d gotten a solid grip on the events of the night. After he had collected all the information he needed, Tom left the school so that they could mourn privately, and so that he could write his article. Apparating back to the newsroom, he immediately hunched over his desk, furiously scratching words onto the parchment in front of him.

Tom made his way to the editor’s table to put the finishing pieces on his section so the layout could be sent to the printing press. He was nearly finished when Barnabas Cuffe walked in followed by the Minister for Magic, much to Tom’s surprise.

“I’d like to read your article about the Tournament,” the Minister asked, without pleasantries. 

“Of course,” Tom conceded, sliding the parchment across the table. 

The Minister’s eyes skated over the words Tom had written, and he felt a sense of uneasiness creep over him. Cornelius Fudge had never before visited the newsroom to check on an article, let alone so close to the print deadline.

“I’m rather surprised, Mr. Criquetter,” Fudge began. “Mr. Cuffe had led me to believe that your were a journalist with more integrity than this.”

“I’m sorry, Minister, I’m not sure what you mean,” Tom said, befuddled beyond measure.

“Well, from what I’ve heard, it’s rather unlike you to report such baseless rumours.”

“With all due respect, Minister, I did a great deal of interviewing, and there’s nothing in that article that is unfounded,” Tom argued, feeling rather defensive.

“It’s a pack of lies!” Fudge hissed, his round cheeks turning a ruddy color.

“I spoke with Dumbledore, with Potter, even with Crouch!” 

“Barty Crouch Jr is obviously very ill, and Potter has been known to make up stories,” Fudge insisted.

“Potter was the only eye witness that we know of to what happened in that graveyard!” Tom disputed. “His story makes perfect sense! How do you think the Diggory boy died?”

“It was a tragic accident!” Fudge spluttered, pulling the bowler hat from his head and toying with it agitatedly.

“It was murder!”

“Tom -” Cuffe interjected, his tone stern and commanding, something extremely out of character for the genial, laid-back editor. “The Daily Prophet will not be publishing any articles claiming that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back without irrefutable evidence.”

“You can’t be serious,” Tom gasped, noticing the self-satisfied grin that settled on the Minister’s face. It was clear that this policy was a directive issued from Fudge himself.

“It is not your place to question either myself or Mr. Cuffe,” Fudge admonished, replacing his bowler hat.

“I will not be part of defrauding the public,” Tom insisted, squaring his shoulders and though he was readying himself for battle. “If you want to report this as anything other than a murder by Lord Voldemort, you’ll need to find yourself a new Features Editor.”

“I’m sorry that it has to be this way, Tom,” Barnabas sighed, utterly defeated. “I expect your desk to be cleaned out by the end of the day tomorrow.”

Without so much as another word, Cornelius Fudge turned on his heel and strode from the newsroom, Barnabas following close behind.

Swearing under his breath, Tom crumpled the parchment on the desk in front of him. He couldn’t believe that the Minister could act in such a way, that he could so completely ignore all the facts that were laid out so clearly in front of him. Even more astonishing was that Barnabas would go along with it. With a swift motion, Tom swept from the room, his coattails billowing out behind him, and he stepped out into the night air. He needed a walk home to clear his mind, and figure out what to do next. It wasn’t exactly a good time to be out of a job. But even so, it was better to be unemployed than to be complicit in corruption, spewing propaganda, and misleading the public instead of exposing the truth.


	24. More Than This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HP Houses Challenge, Year 5
> 
> Round 3 Standard  
> Prompt: [Character] Cornelius Fudge  
> Bonus Prompt: [Theme] Forgotten heroes  
> Restriction: Must be written in the past as a backstory or origin story. Cannot be a flashback.

He signed his name on the line at the bottom of the paper.

_ Cornelius Oswald Fudge _

He felt weirdly like he was signing his life away, even though it was only a job. But something told him that this job was going to change his life, and maybe not for the better. He didn’t have many options though - he’d had mediocre NEWT scores and he wasn’t connected to any powerful wizarding families, so no one was exactly clamoring to hire him. The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes was more than respectable though, even if it wasn’t exactly what he had dreamt of doing. 

All around him, people were talking about a war. Cornelius was less sure about it all - there did seem to be a lot of tension between Pureblood families and, well, everyone else, but that wasn’t exactly new. He supposed the disappearances were a bit odd, and it was true that there had been a few more murders than was typical. But as for an actual  _ war _ ? Cornelius had his doubts. 

It was during his second month on the job that things took an abrupt turn. Until then, it had all been small things - pranks and mishaps and the like. Pets escaping and wreaking havoc on the neighborhood, artifacts being charmed to bite off a finger or erase memories. It was all somewhat tame. Cornelius was starting to wonder if they ever actually dealt with anything more on the catastrophic side of things, or if all that was left to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. 

A note fluttered into existence, the parchment hovering in the air in the middle of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes office. Cornelius looked around, searching for one of the junior ministers to take the message, but seeing none, he snatched the note for himself.

_ Dragon attack. Barnton. Come quickly. _

Cornelius wasn’t entirely sure why the message had been sent to their office, but he supposed a dragon attack constituted a catastrophe. He quickly copied the note twice, signed his name to the bottom and forwarded it as a memo to the Departments of Magical Law Enforcement and Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Much as he was loathe to share the limelight with them, he could not deny to himself that they had a right to be informed of such an event. Once that had been done, Cornelius sped around the office, looking for anyone else from his department who could join him. But it was late at night, so there was no one else there. Letting out a swear, he grabbed his travelling cloak and swept from the office, wrapping it around his shoulders as he walked.

Once Cornelius reached the main lobby of the Ministry, he twisted on his heel, thinking intently of the main square in Barnton to apparate there. Once arrived, he doubted it would take him long to discover the precise location of the attack. He was right in thinking that locating the attack would be easy. He was very,  _ very  _ wrong in thinking that it would merely be a rogue dragon.

Cornelius hadn’t been in the square of the small town for more than a few seconds when a jet of red light streaked toward him, only narrowly missing his ear, the  _ whoosh _ of it ruffling the neatly trimmed ends of his hair. A heartbeat later a loud growl erupted from behind him, and he could feel the heat of an accompanying breath of flames. Duelers  _ and _ dragons, excellent.

“Take cover!” a voice yelled, and Cornelius thought it seemed vaguely familiar. But he had little time to dwell on that, instead focusing on ducking behind the statue in the middle of the square.

From his secure place, Cornelius took a moment to look around, trying to sort out what was happening around him. Down three streets to the north, he could see dragons lumbering behind a tall, thin figure in pitch black robes. Something inside him told him that this figure, this man who nearly blended into the night, was the dark wizard that everyone feared. This was Lord Voldemort. Until that moment, Cornelius hadn’t believed in him, or hadn’t believe the extent of him, he wasn’t sure. But in that moment, as terror flooded his system, Cornelius understood. But he could not - he would never - turn his back on this situation. Whatever flaws he might have, Cornelius Fudge was  _ not _ a coward. He tightened his grip on his wand and continued to assess the situation.

To the southwest was a bunch of Order of the Phoenix members - those renegade witches and wizards who were part of some kind of vigilante organization to stop Voldemort and his followers. He recognized the auburn hair of Lily Evans, easy enough to spot. And if Lily was there, that meant James Potter was right beside her. Those two meant there was a high likelihood that Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Marlene McKinnon or Dorcas Meadowes was concealed in that alleyway as well, but Cornelius could see no sign of them.

What Cornelius could see was exactly what was going to happen next. The Order gang was trapped. They had no shelter - at least none that could withstand a fully grown dragon - and no retreat. They could, if pressed, apparate away from the scene to save their own skin, but it would leave the town prone to Voldemort, his followers, and three dragons. Cornelius knew enough about these guys to know that they would never do that. They would die there, either by curse or by dragon fire, or by some other hellish means. Unless he did something. 

From the way they were approaching the square, it didn’t seem that Voldemort or his followers either knew or cared about Cornelius’ presence, and that left him with an opportunity. He could save them. He could save the whole town, if he played his cards right. He tapped his wand to the top of his head, wordlessly casting a disillusionment charm over himself, and he crept forward slowly. 

He would only have one shot at this. Smoke was billowing into the night sky from the tongues of dragon flames that licked over ancient buildings. He needed to subdue the dragons first, in order to give them all a fighting chance against Voldemort’s gang. With three rapid flicks of his wand, Cornelius cast binding spells on the dragons. Heavy iron shackles burst in the existence, chaining together claws and pinning down tails. Even sturdier iron muzzles clamped down over their snouts, dampening the danger of fire. With a hiss of frustration, the Death Eaters tried to free their mounts to no avail. Cornelius has learned this particular spell from an American trader, and only the caster could remove it. One of the dragons toppled sideways into a building, the stone wall crumbling beneath its weight. Cornelius could hear screams from inside.

The sound of residents screaming seemed to spur Lily and James into action, pushing them forward to try to save anyone they could. But they were running straight into a minefield. The Death Eaters unleashed a barrage of brightly colored spells, all speeding toward the two young adults.

Cornelius swore under his breath as he looked between Lily and James, ducking curse after curse as they surged forward across the square, and the fallen building that housed the collapsed dragon, now beginning to catch fire as it concealed countless terrified individuals. In a split second, he made his decision. Lily and James were experienced duelers - at least, they were as experienced as any recent graduate - and they could take care of themselves for the moment. He sped towards the inferno, ready to cast  _ aguamenti _ the moment he was behind enemy lines. He could see the gaping hole where the dragon had fallen, a mess of stone and mortar obscuring what once had been an organized interior. He scrambled to put an end to the blaze while he searched the rubble with his gaze, desperate to find survivors now that the screams had abated. 

Once he had the flames under control after what felt like an eternity, Cornelius began shifting rubble aside, grasping at every body that he found and pulling them to relative safety. He moved from one spot to another, finding as many people as he could. It was a tavern, he realized, and there were dozens of bodies strewn under the wreckage. Cornelius continued working systematically, moving to the next building, burned beyond recognition, when he had finished, and then the next and the next. He drowned out the fight behind him, until a gut feeling told him to turn around. Lily was on the ground, scooting backwards as fast as she could while Voldemort approached steadily. James had evidently been thrown against one of the remaining buildings, unconscious in a heap at the base. Cornelius could tell from Voldemort’s predatory gait that he had every intent of playing with his food before he ate it, so to speak. Cornelius sent a severing charm in their direction, aiming for Voldemort’s wand and hoping it would be enough. He missed his target, but his spell sliced through the Dark Lord’s arm instead. He snarled, vicious and animal-like, and the sound sent fear dripping down Cornelius’ spine. With an evaluative look at his injury and his Death Eaters defeated on the ground, the Dark Lord disapparated. It wasn’t a life threatening injury, but it was enough to drive him away temporarily, like a wounded creature seeking its den in order to recuperate. 

Cornelius turned his attention back to his task, digging through piles of splintered and burnt wood. It registered, somewhere in the back of his mind, that a series of small  _ pops _ indicated the arrival of other wizards, but he didn’t know whether it was other Order members or the ministry wizards he had sent for. It didn’t matter much to him, as long as they could help him save these people.

There was no article in the newspaper the next day, but somehow everyone knew about the attack anyway. Everywhere Cornelius walked, he was treated to awed expressions and declarations of gratitude. Is was far more than he felt he deserved. He heard the phrase  _ the hero of Barnton _ , uttered more than once, and it made him sick. There were so many people he hadn’t saved, so many who had perished in that attack. He hadn’t done nearly enough to be deemed a hero. But it didn’t matter how he saw himself, all that mattered was how the rest of the wizarding world perceived him. 

Two years later, Cornelius would be sitting at his desk when he heard the news: Lily and James Potter were dead, and the Dark Lord was gone forever. He ought to be thrilled, like the rest of the world, but on that particular morning, only one thought would run through his mind on a continuous loop.  _ I saved them, dammit. I saved them for more than this. _


	25. Cinderella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
> Term 11  
> Gryffindor House Internal Challenge  
> Disney Prompts, Cinderella

Harry rocked back and forth in their glider, holding on to Lily tightly. She was sucking one thumb with her other hand rooted firmly in her auburn curls, eyes blinking slowly as she tried not to fall asleep.

“...she again slipped away from him, though in such a hurry that she dropped her left golden slipper upon the stairs. The prince took the shoe, and went the next day to the king his father, and said, ‘I will take for my wife the lady that this golden slipper fits.’”

“Not this story again,” Ginny admonished from the doorway of the nursery, one hand on her hip. “I keep telling you, it’ll give her nightmares. And besides, I’m not sure I want to be teaching her from infancy that she needs a man to rescue her.”

“She’ll be fine,” Harry denied, pressing his cheek to the top of his daughter’s head. “And there are worse things than learning to accept help from others.”

“Accepting help is one thing,” Ginny argued, “but relying on others is entirely different.”

“Ginny,” Harry sighed, too tired for this fight again. He was all for raising Lily to be a strong, self-reliant woman, and Merlin knows he was a staunch feminist - how could he be married to Ginny and best friends with Hermione and not know first hand the strength of women? - but there were times that he longed for simplicity. Why couldn’t a fairytale just be a fairytale and a dress just be a dress? Why did everything have to be a statement?

“Why do you like that story so much anyway?” Ginny asked. “You read it to her practically every night.”

“I…” Harry paused, unsure exactly how to describe it. “I think my mum used to read it to me.”

“But -”

“I know, I don’t really remember it,” he hastened to add. “It’s more of a feeling, a sense of familiarity. It’s sort of like my patronus charm - I’m not sure that it’s really a memory, but it feels like one. It feels real.”

“Harry,” Ginny replied softly, kneeling next to the rocking chair where he sat, “of course I want your parents to have a role in Lily’s childhood, but… well, don’t you think this is a bit of a reach? Only I feel like there are more concrete ways to honor them than with a story that your mum may or may not have read to you and which your wife definitely hates.”

“Like what?” Harry challenged. “Giving her little deer mementos? Ginny, the honest truth is that neither of us really knows much about my parents, and there isn’t really anyone left that can tell us more than the most superficial details. But this is… this is something, Gin, I know it is. It has to be.”

“Why would she read you Cinderella though?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “Maybe it was her favourite story. But I just know in my gut that she did, okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed, pressing a soft kiss to his temple as she ran her fingers gently over Lily’s head. “Okay.”   
  



	26. Another Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Term 11  
> House: Gryffindor  
> Subject/Task: Mythology, Task 5  
> Prompt: Use the phrase 'Even after death, there is another story to be told' in the fic or as inspiration.  
> Word Count: 1825

Even after death, there is another story to be told. Perhaps I am not the right one to tell it, but then, who else will?

I met her on the day of her birth. She was tiny and pink and screaming, but she wasn’t the one I was concerned with. It was her mother, lying in a bed and hemorrhaging after giving birth, who was the object of my attention. And yet, I couldn’t help but steal glances at this perfect little baby being attended by the nurses, as we waited to see whether her mother would cling to life or teeter over the edge. I kept turning back to her, unable to resist the pull of her jade eyes. So unusual, for a baby to have green eyes. Only hours old, and yet her visage already spoke of kindness as deep as the sea.

Perhaps things would have been different if I had not been distracted by the squirming infant, but perhaps not. I have no control over these things, despite what people might think. The mother lived, but not without sacrifice. This new child would be her last; there would be no chance for another. When I finally left the room - there were, after all, lots of other dying patients who needed attending - it was with considerable effort. I wanted so badly to shirk my duties and stay with that little baby, who for inexplicable reasons, had absolutely captivated me.

o . o . o

It was a long time before I saw her again, though not as long as it should have been. She was five years old, but I recognized her immediately. She may have grown, but I would have known those eyes anywhere. Jade green with whorls of deeper emerald, and more kindness than I had seen in another soul. I wasn’t really supposed to see her. I was there for someone else, and she was just being wheeled down the hallway, her arm bandaged in a bright green cast. She had been playing with her older sister, climbing trees, and she had fallen. But despite the trauma, she was laughing. Her floral dress displayed skinned knees and freckled skin that told of days playing in the sun. She was radiant and happy.

Her sister looked upset, her mother worried. And yet she smiled. There were no tear tracks on her face, no sign of anything amiss besides the cast on her arm. Once more, I could not tear my eyes away from her. I stood fixed in the hallway as she rolled away, longing to follow her magnetic pull. But duty called, and when she rounded a corner, I turned my attention back to those waiting for my care. I wanted to see her again soon, but I hoped it would be a long time. She did not deserve my presence.

o . o . o

It turned out that it would be a mere two years until I next saw her. A car had come out of nowhere, in the dead of the night, had hit them at high speed. The car had flipped twice, metal crunching with each new impact. Her mother had broken ribs and several abrasions, but she had been lucky. Her sister had a nasty concussion, a few broken bones, and a cut across her forehead that would require several stitches. But it was the girl and her father that were in the worst shape. He had been driving, and she had been sitting behind him, on the side where the other car had hit them. Her spine was damaged, her skull cracked, her arm rebroken where it had been before, and both her legs had been fractured. And the internal damage… It was considerable. If she was bad, her father was worse. A punctured lung, internal bleeding from everywhere imaginable, and broken bones galore. They were in operating rooms side by side, and I went between them both. I knew that one would not survive, but I didn’t know which it would be.

Her monitor started to flare, the alarm sounding shrill and piercing to my ears. And I prayed. For the first time in my very long life, I prayed. This girl was too special and far too young. Even I knew it wasn’t her time yet. She had so much to offer the world still. There were so many things she had to do.

Chest compressions did nothing, and the paddles were brought out. There was a frantic effort to find the source of her distress, and I thought that if only my heart could beat for both of us, she would be fine. And suddenly, the alarm stopped. It just stopped and showed the steady up-down of a regular heartbeat. For a moment, I was relieved. And then I heard the alarm sound from the operating room nextdoor.

But I was horrible, and I thought  _ Good. Let it be him.  _ I could handle it if it was her father. That would be fine. But I would fall to pieces if it was her. I didn’t want to leave her side, but it was time to do my job. I slipped into the adjacent room, where her father was dying, just in time to hear the final toll of his machines.

Over the following weeks, I would check up on her. It wasn’t technically something I was supposed to do, but I couldn’t resist. She was in pain, both physically and emotionally. Her world had been turned upside down and her body had been ripped apart. I stood behind her at the funeral, her red hair flying in the wind, matching the leaves on that October day. She tried not to fidget in the wheelchair, her only movement that of her hand as she wiped away her tears. I wanted to stay, to watch her forever, to make sure she was alright, but I knew better. I had work to do, and she would be better without me.

o . o . o

There were many chance encounters over the years, but mostly at the expense of others. Once the war started, I saw her frequently. Friends were snatched away, enemies were felled. Battlefields were strewn with bodies, as was typical of war. I didn’t care, so long as hers was not among them. She had become a fiery young woman, filled to the brim with fighting spirit. But she was kind as well. She wanted to change the world, not destroy it. I was not supposed to take sides, but even I could see that those who opposed her were fighting for evil. 

I watched as her friends departed from her one by one, and I stole glances at her each time. There were more than a few close calls, when I watched from the sideline and wondered if she would walk away. More than once, I found her during a happy moment. Just to see her smile, rather than her eyes brimmed red with tears. It wasn’t strictly in the job description, but I couldn’t resist. I was no one to her, she never noticed my existence, but she had come to mean so much to me. I wanted so terribly to see her get everything she ever wanted, to watch her achieve the pinnacle of happiness.

But I could feel her thoughts, her emotions. I knew how much the separation from her sister weighed on her mind. I knew how much grief darkened her heart after her mother passed away. And perhaps I alone knew how she felt that she was wasting her life as she lived in hiding, biding her time until the war was over - at someone else’s hand - and she could reenter the world completely. She felt that her mind was falling to pieces, only her husband and her infant to talk to every day. She felt guilt at being unable to do anything useful, at letting everyone else take all the risk. I pitied her, in truth. She was living like a caged animal, and that was no life for someone so special.

o . o . o

I met her last on the day she died. Evil came for her son, but she was determined that he would not succeed. I climbed the stairs behind her, but I glanced back from the top. Her husband stepped forth, and he fell. There was nothing to be done about it. I kept moving, the evil following me like a shadow creeping. The nursery door was shut, but that proved to be no obstacle. It was blasted open, and evil stepped inside. She stood in front of the crib, not cowering in fear or desperate, but with her head held high. It is often said that people are unafraid in the face of death, but they almost always mean that they did not show fear. But not her. She had no fear, at least not for herself. She feared for her son, of course, but mostly there was defiance and love. I could feel it. Ultimately, she fell too, in a burst of green light and screams as pain ripped through her body in her last few moments. As I focused on her body on the floor, I nearly missed the evil being vanquished by the little boy she had protected. 

I wept for her. It wasn’t the first time I had wept for a human, but the occasions were rare enough. There had been a little book thief many years earlier, and oh, how this one reminded me of her predecessor. Both courageous, tenacious, both struck by circumstances of unimaginable tragedy. 

I had the privilege of escorting her soul away, though it gave me no joy. There was some consolation in knowing that she would be with her husband, but not much. Even I don’t know what kind of life lies beyond. I know that there is something, but I merely escort them to the threshold. It is my curse never to step through the doorway. She was brave in that moment too, as her soul stepped into the unknown. She turned around at the last moment, giving me a curious look. It broke my heart that she looked at me like a stranger. All the times that I had been by her side throughout her life, and she knew none of it. She had never felt my presence as I had always felt hers. But even in her lack of recognition, there was kindness and acceptance. There was not the revulsion that twisted so many faces, no trace of the terror or hatred I so often saw. Her expression was an olive branch, and it would be enough to sustain me for decades of ferrying souls.

Her story is one of courage and love and kindness. I would know, better than anyone, I who witnessed her whole life. It was a story that proved, once again, that even Death has a heart.


	27. Through the Wardrobe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Houses Challenge  
> Round 4 Standard  
> Prompt: [Crossover] Chronicles of Narnia

Peter opened the closet door, and was surprised when he was greeted with a slight chill in the air. It was as if a draught was coming from the back of the wardrobe, but that couldn’t be, it made no sense. He rifled around among the coats, searching for his big puffer coat. A gust of cool air drifted out, and a few stray snowflakes landed on Peter’s nose like a dusting of ivory freckles, taking him by surprise. 

 

“What on earth?” he mumbled to himself, and he pushed farther into the cupboard, shocked when his hands did not immediately find a back.

 

He kept inching forward until he emerged on the other side of the coats. He stood in a small grove of trees, well maintained, with snow coating the ground and the tree branches, and a vast array of stars peppering a velvety night sky. His first thought was that it was a vanishing cabinet, but he knew full well that this wasn’t how they worked. He could feel in his bones that this was some kind of ancient magic, deep and pure and untapped. It thrummed through his veins like a song, calling him forward, deeper into the strange new world. Peter snagged the first coat his fingers curled around - his aunt Mildred’s, as it happened - and wrapped it around his shoulders as he trudged forth, listening to the tug of the magic. 

 

He trudged through snow until his feet began to grow numb and his nose felt like a block of frozen ice. As the sky began to lighten with the first hints of a sunrise, Peter could begin to see the stone walls of a castle between the tree branches. Thoughts of flickering fires and hot chocolate offered some warmth and urged him on. The sun was visible over the castle walls when Peter finally reached it - aching, tired, and above all, cold.  He pushed open the thick wooden door, dropping his shoulder against it in order to make it move. Inside was a pretty spring garden filled with ancient-looking, curved trees and brightly colored wildflowers.

 

“Hello?” a voice called out, timid but curious.

 

“Who’s there?” Peter gasped, stepping backward a little. He could feel his heart beating hard in his chest.

 

A young woman, only a few years older than Peter, stepped forward from amidst the trees, and Peter wondered how he hadn’t seen her. Her bright red gown didn’t exactly camouflage with the foliage, and the golden crown nestled atop her auburn hair glistened in the sunlight.

 

“It’s only me,” she said kindly. “But I don’t know who you are.”

 

“P-Peter,” he stammered.

 

“My brother’s name is Peter,” she sighed, looking over her shoulder at the castle looming behind her. She seemed oddly sad as she spoke. “King Peter.”

 

“Your brother is the king?” Peter asked, his eyes traveling to her crown again. “So then you’re a princess?”

 

“No, I’m Queen Lucy the Valiant,” she replied, a little fiercer, as though she was annoyed to have been demoted by the stranger. “My brother is High King Peter the Magnificent, then my sister is Queen Susan the Gentle, then King Edmund the Just, and then me. We four rule Narnia together.”

 

“What’s Narnia?” Peter asked, feeling incredibly dumb.

 

“Narnia is where you are. Do you mean to say that you come from another land?”

 

“I… don’t know exactly,” he admitted. “I came through the wardrobe, and then I was in a clearing, and I walked here.”

 

“We came through a wardrobe once…” Queen Lucy looked over his shoulder, her eyes glazed over as she became lost in the memories of long ago. “Come with me,” she said, suddenly snapping out of her trance. “My siblings will want to meet you.”

 

She turned and swept along the stone path to another door, pushing it open and stepping inside. Peter followed, taking in his changing surroundings with wide eyes. They had entered into a dim stone corridor, lit by flickering torches, but soon they were traversing more ornate halls with beautiful rugs and paintings and statues. Peter felt as though his jaw was on the floor as he followed his host. Even Hogwarts wasn’t this grand. With a sudden pang, he realized that he had left his wand behind, and he began to feel panic rise in his chest.  _ You don’t even know if it would work here, _ he told himself. He had no idea what the rules of magic were when you crossed between realms. 

 

After several minutes of walking, they passed through a high archway that opened onto an enormous hall, and Peter let out an audible gasp. The hall was floor to ceiling marble with ornate gold detailing, and at the front, on top of a high dais, sat three ivory chairs with plush red cushions. The hall wasn’t full, but a few citizens were milling about, waiting to be seen. All but one of the four seats were occupied. To the far left was a man with jet black hair and a green velvet tunic. He sat up straight, rigid, and looked at those who spoke to him with an intensity that made it seem as though he were trying to read their thoughts. Next to him was a blond man in gold, his hand resting on a sword laying across his knees as he lounged in his chair. Beside him was a woman with long hair and a pale blue gown, an ivory horn slung across her chest, and a bow and quiver leaning against her leg. She looked at her subjects with kindness, but her attention quickly shifted as she saw her sister enter the hall. 

 

“Excuse us for a moment,” she said quietly, but with enough force to bring everything in the room to a halt. She was the kind of woman who commanded respect and obedience, not unlike Professor McGonagall. With a glance, she directed her brothers’ attention to the two newcomers, and then all three stood and made their way to a room at the side of the hall. Queen Lucy followed them, and Peter followed her, aware that the hall’s occupants were watching him with curiosity.

 

“Who’s our guest, Luce?” the blond brother asked with amused curiosity.

 

“This is Peter, and he says he came through a wardrobe last night,” she answered, and a hush fell through the room. The three siblings looked as though they’d been hit over the head, shocked and surprised by this information.

 

“I was at my Aunt Mildred’s house,” Peter began to explain, the words spewing forth. “She lives in Castleford, and we were visiting for the holidays. I was supposed to be doing my schoolwork, but I wanted to go outside instead, so I was grabbing my coat. But then it was so cold and I was curious, and there was no back to the wardrobe, and I ended up in this snowy clearing.”

 

“In Castleford?” the older woman - Queen Susan, he supposed - asked softly, as though she was remembering something long suppressed.

 

“Yes,” Peter confirmed.

 

“Near Leeds?” the dark haired man chimed in, exchanging a glance with his sister.

 

“Yes,” Peter answered, feeling confused.

 

“It has to be the same,” the man said, and Queen Susan nodded.

 

“Professor Kirke’s house,” Queen Lucy confirmed, and all four stared at Peter intensely.

 

“I think my aunt mentioned a Professor,” Peter said. “He was a friend of her grandmother’s, from when they were kids. They… they travelled somewhere together I think. Some big trip.”

 

“Do you know anything else about him?” the blond king asked, urgency in his voice. Now that Peter was close to them, he could tell that this man seemed older than the others, his crown a little taller, a little more ornate. He had to be High King Peter.

 

“I think he took in some kids during the War,” Peter replied, wracking his memory for any other information. “But I don’t know what happened to them.”

 

A thought dawned on Peter, and he remembered snippets of conversations that he had barely paid attention to. Four kids, he was pretty sure. Four kids, sent to the countryside during the Blitz so they could be safe. But then they disappeared, and no one ever found them again. And when he had first met Queen Lucy, she said they had gone through the wardrobe once. Peter had thought she meant they had left Narnia, but that wasn’t right. He just knew that wasn’t right.

 

“What happened?” King Edmund asked. “The war, how did it end?”

 

“We won,” Peter answered solemnly. “But it was pretty bad. A lot of people died. More than ever before. And there was a huge bomb, an atom bomb. Like a million times more than a regular one. It was bad.”

 

“How long has it been since it ended?” Queen Susan asked carefully. She sounded almost like she didn’t want to know the answer.

 

“About thirty years.”

 

“They’re probably all dead then,” King Edmund huffed, turning away from the others.

 

“Don’t say that!” Queen Lucy cried, admonishing her brother. She might be younger than him, but she certainly seemed to be in charge of him.

 

“It’s true! The Professor was already ancient and everyone else probably got bombed into dust,” he hissed back. “There’d be no point going back now.”

 

“Edmund’s right, we can’t go back,” King Peter said to the others, sadness casting a shadow on all of their faces. “We can’t ever go back.”

 

“It’s time to forget that world for good,” Queen Susan agreed. 

 

“I can’t stay here,” Peter said, thinking of his family waiting for him in that big country house and his friends missing him at school. “I’m sorry, but I have to go home.”

 


	28. My Friends, My Friends Forgive Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HP Houses Challenge  
> Round 4 Drabble  
> Prompt: [Song] Empty Chairs at Empty Tables from Les Miserables

Peter stepped across the threshold of the house. There were scorch marks on the wall creeping down the stairs, and the carpet in the living room was slightly singed as well. He stepped carefully, as though he were concerned that their ghosts might rise from the floors and strangle him. He didn’t really know why he had come here, except that he felt a profound aching that he couldn’t seem to shake.  **There was a grief that filled him that he couldn’t put into words** .

 

There, in the living room, that was were he had sat with his friends, as they had  _ t _ **alked about revolution** and made plans. They had a vision,  **they could see a world reborn** that Peter couldn’t begin to imagine. They wanted to set the world on fire, and  **it was in this room that they lit the flame** . 

 

Peter kept walking, passing into the kitchen. There was  **the table in the corner** , and he could see the ghosts of maps and blueprints they had spread out across it once upon a time. He could  **hear their voices ringing** as they clamored to speak over each other, excitement bubbling over their newest assignment.  **He could hear them still,** as clearly as if they sat at that table now.  **But the chairs were empty, the table bare.**

 

He continued his tour of the cottage, each new room pushing the knife of grief deeper into his heart. There were ghosts in every corner,  **phantom faces in the windows, wraith-like shadows across the floor.** If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn that he was not the only one walking through the house.

 

When he reached the top of the stairs, Peter gasped for air, feeling as though his heart had been shredded to pieces. He felt like he was drowning; the guilt and anguish washing over him in a tidal wave a thousand times stronger than he had ever felt before. He sank to the floor under the weight of it, tears streaming down his cheeks.  **_Forgive me,_ ** he thought to himself.  **_I’m so sorry, forgive me. I shouldn’t be here, not when you are gone. I don’t deserve to be the one alive._ **

 

Peter let out a low wail as his pain enveloped him. What had he done? He never wanted this to happen, he never wanted to hurt anyone. He just couldn’t understand the point of fighting against an unstoppable force. Wasn’t it better to just accept your fate than to keep fighting in vain? People were only dying because they were fighting back, if everyone just conceded, wouldn’t things be better? The war would end and people would be less afraid. And that was all he had wanted, for everything to  _ stop _ . He wanted his friends to stop dying. He knew they were willing to die to change the world, but he didn’t want them to; he wasn’t ready for that. And why should he be? Why should any of them live only twenty one years just because the world wasn’t perfect?

 

And even now,  **what was their sacrifice for?** The Dark Lord might be gone, but was anything else really different? Hearts and minds don’t change overnight, and his defeat wouldn’t mean that people stopped believing what they did. They were dead, and the world wasn’t going to change. It was going to go on, his own personal hell hole, horrible and unfair, and without them. He never wanted to be without them.

 

Anger boiled through him suddenly like dragon fire. This wasn’t his fault - the blame belonged with Snape. He should have never opened his mouth about that damn prophecy.  _ He  _ was the reason Peter’s friends - his  _ family - _ was dead. The git was probably dancing on their graves too, not a shred of remorse in his body.

 

Peter slumped to his knees against the charred wall and closed his eyes, his lids fluttering slightly over the tears. He needed to leave, he couldn't bear the heartbreak any longer. The anger he had felt toward Snape had fled as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the sound of his torment echoing in his ears. He wanted it to go away desperately. 

 

Stumbling, he fled the cottage, his feet carrying him as fast as possible through the fog, his tears blurring the world around him. How apt. A metaphor, really. Grief made everything else recede into the background so that the only thing that was in focus was the pain one felt.  **Pain that seemed to go on and on forever.** His mind, body, and whatever remained of his soul was consumed with despair. Peter wondered if it would ever stop, or if he would feel this acute ache for his entire life. He came to a stop in an alleyway, leaning against the brick wall and sliding down until he crouched on the ground. His hand trembled as he raised his wand to his head, thinking the words over and over. Peter could end it all right now, and then the pain would fade into a blissful numbness. How nice it would be to just… stop. 

 

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and sniffed, his breaths short as the killing curse was on the tip of his tongue. But he couldn't utter the words; he betrayed even himself now. He laughed bitterly, his fingers tearing at his hair as he dropped his wand to the ground. Perhaps he deserved it. Perhaps that was the price he should pay for the role he had played in his brother’s death. Never ending sorrow, immutable pain. That was his punishment.

 

But there was one thing he could do. Peter knew he was a coward as he did it, but it didn’t matter. He wished he had the courage to face his pain, but he had always been a coward, why try to change now? He felt things less when he was transformed, his human emotions tucked away in some distant corner of his mind. So perhaps if he stayed in his rat form long enough, the pain would have subsided. He could wait it out. Courage may not be one of his virtues, but patience he had in spades.   

 

Dang! That’s a really good story. The emotions are just right, and I think it really sticks to the prompt.

  
  



	29. Make It True

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HSWW, A6  
> Prompt: Write about a rumoured relationship (whether true or not). (Note - rumours/talking to be included).

_ So tell me why we even trying to deny this feeling _

_ I feel it, don’t you feel it too? _

_ There’s a rumor going round, and round, and round, _

_ What d’you say we make it true? _

 

“They’ve  _ got _ to be hooking up,” Remus exclaimed, smacking his glass down on the bar. He raised his hand to signal to the bartender that he wanted a refill on his scotch before flashing an irritated look at the makeshift dance floor where his best friend was spinning around with some girl. Not some girl though, their friend. Sirius’ friend since childhood. “I refuse to believe that they aren’t.”

 

“I dunno, mate,” James replied, downing another gulp of his beer. “He hasn’t said anything to me, and I do live with the bloke, so I think I would notice if he was bringing a fit girl home every night to shag.”

 

Lily slapped the back of his head and James grinned, leaning over to plant a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

 

“Not as fit as you though, babe, no one is,” he said smoothly.

 

“James is right,” Lily agreed, rolling her eyes at her boyfriend. “Marlene hasn’t said anything to me either.”

 

“They do have a lot of chemistry though,” Peter chimed in, agreeing with Remus.

 

“They’ve known each other since they were like two or something,” Lily said, taking another swig of her beer. “It just makes sense that they’re close.”

 

“It’s more than that though,” Remus protested.

 

The four of them looked over at their friends again, taking in every detail. The smiles and laughter, the way Sirius’ thumb brushed so briefly over the exposed skin at Marlene’s hip. They seemed like they had no idea that anyone else was in the pub at all.

 

“I’m telling you, they’re a thing, everyone knows it,” Remus sulked. 

 

“Whatever you say, mate,” James conceded with a shrug.

 

They all focused on their friends for a moment as their sipped on their respective drinks, a mix of thoughts passing between them. It did seem like the two spent a lot of their time together, and they had an intimate understanding of each other that any couple would be jealous of. They weren’t ignorant of their friends’ gossip either. Sirius could see them watching, smirks and frowns alike. He could understand why everyone thought they were together, but nothing had ever happened between them. But lately, he’d been feeling a tingling every time he touched Marlene, and the smell of her shampoo was driving him positively wild. 

 

“Everyone thinks we’re together,” Sirius whispered, his fingers tightening reflexively on her hip. “You know that right?”

 

“They’re all morons,” Marlene scoffed, casting a glance over her shoulder at her friends and rolling her eyes.

 

“Are they though?” Sirius felt his heart pounding in his chest as she eyed him with curiosity.

 

“Now you’ve gone crazy too?” she asked, not entirely sure of what he was saying.

 

“No, I just…” Sirius chewed on his lip, debating whether or not to take the dive. “I’ve just been thinking lately, that maybe there’s something to all the talk.”

 

Marlene tightened her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him, and Sirius could feel his heart stuttering. It was too much, he needed to know, he just needed a definitive answer from her. 

 

“If you don’t feel it too, that’s alright,” Sirius hastily assured her. “I can make them stop.”

 

“Or,” Marlene said with a wicked grin, “we could really give them something to talk about.”

 

Sirius grinned like that cat that caught the canary, his hand drifting across her back. She leaned into him, reaching up on her tiptoes to capture his lips. There was a brief pause where everything was new and exciting and romantic, before nature took over. Sirius’ hands were tangling in her curls while Marlene scratched her nails lightly across the nape of his neck. 

 

Their friends were whistling and cheering at the bar, but neither of them really cared. Leaving together, attached at the lips, would probably only make the rumours fly more vigorously, but that didn’t matter. Let the others talk, they’d be busy doing better things.


	30. Does She Love Me? (Is it Too Late?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HHC, Year 5, Round 5  
> Standard  
> Prompt: [Emotion] Heartbroken

 

_ It creeps in slowly _

_ Stings like poison through my veins _

_ So many questions _

_ So many glances unexplained _

\- Let Go by Dean Lewis

Dean saw her walking down the hall and his heart squeezed painfully. He hated this. Just one stupid comment that led to a stupid fight that made her walk away from him. It’s not like he really expected them to be together forever, but she made him happy… most of the time. And if they made each other happy then there was a chance it could be forever. There was a chance they could be right together.

There had been days when it got to him, when he felt like he was her second choice. He would see the way she looked at Harry after Quidditch practice, or see her glance over at him during dinner, and it would just drive him mad. Dean had no idea how everyone else missed Harry’s smitten expressions whenever he looked at Ginny, but somehow it seemed like he was the only one that knew. On those bad days, the fear that Harry was going to snatch her away from him took hold of him, and it made him want to cling to her even tighter. Ginny hated that.

He wanted so badly to go back to the way things had been in the beginning. Not even the beginning - the middle. The start had been fun and light and all smiles, but the middle had been truly wonderful. Because they did love each other, he knew it. It wasn’t all in his head, and it wasn’t only him. They had something together, and for a while it had been  _ great _ , and he wanted that back. They had to find their way back from this.

Dean watched as Ginny laughed with Luna, throwing her head back with glee. Her titian hair tickled the middle of her back as her shoulders shook, and Dean felt longing gnaw at his heart.  He thought back to their fight…  _ stupid.  _ He understood why she had been mad when he and Seamus laughed at Harry’s fractured skull. She had been friends with Harry for ages - the bloke was practically her brother, he and Ron were so close - so Dean understood that she had been worried about him. He had been worried too, Harry was his friend too. But it was  _ funny.  _ How could he watch McLaggen swing that stupid bat straight into Harry’s head and  _ not _ laugh? He knew he’d be alright, Madam Pomfrey could mend anything. But Ginny had blown it totally out of proportion and they’d fought and it was just another reason why she could walk away from him. But Dean thought they’d gotten past it, moved on. And then the same  _ stupid  _ fight again. He hadn’t even tried to help her through the portrait hole, but it didn’t matter. It had been the final straw for her.

He just didn’t understand. He felt so strongly about her, he  _ loved  _ her, how could she stand to give up on them so easily? It didn’t make sense, it wasn’t right. Something shifted and Dean made a decision. He wasn’t going to let it end this easily, he was going to fight back. Because surely this had just had an argument, and he could win Ginny over again. He had to try, he couldn’t just give up. With a deep breath, Dean began to trot down the hall, chasing after Ginny. He was always chasing after her. She rounded the corner and he quickened his pace, breaking into a jog.

“Ginny!” he called out, reaching out toward her with his hand. 

She turned at the sound of her name, her eyes quickly scanning the hall and landing on Dean. Her brows furrowed and her whole demeanor shifted, her body tensing. Dean felt his heart sink. If that was the way she looked at him… it felt like he was losing her all over again.

“Hey,” he breathed when he finally caught up to her, “I was hoping maybe we could talk… about things - us - about what happened the other night.”

Ginny opened her mouth to speak, but Dean ploughed on, determined to get his thoughts out. 

“I heard what you said,” he continued, “but I don’t think we should let that be the end. It’s such a small thing, and I can work on it, and we can be better. Ginny, we used to be happier, I know we can get there again. But I don’t want to be without you right now. I’m mad about you, I know that you know that, and I can’t just let this thing between us die because of a silly little mistake.”

Ginny was quiet for a moment, and Dean had a heartbeat where he thought he had won her over. It was so unlike her to stay silent, and he thought surely it must mean that she was seeing the sense in what he said and was considering it. But then her eyes met him, and he saw something in them that he never wanted to see.

“You think it’s silly and small, and that’s exactly why this is over,” she said definitively. “Anything that makes the person you care about upset should never be insignificant to you, Dean. It should always matter.”

“I never said it didn’t matter,” he replied quietly.

“I know,” Ginny answered, “but that is how you see it. It’s why you never bothered trying to change until now, until I broke up with you for it.” She stared him down in that fiery way she had, and Dean felt the truth of her words sinking into his very bones. “But the truth is, that’s not why I ended it, Dean. I don’t care about you, not in that way. I wish you all the best, and I’m happy to be your friend and your teammate, but I don’t want to be with you anymore. Not because of anything you did wrong, or anything like that, but just because I don’t want to. You’re not the one for me, it’s that simple.”

“I could be,” Dean protested, hating how weak he sounded even as the words spilled from his mouth.

“No, you can’t,” she snapped, frustration evident in her voice and her expression. “I just don’t want you, Dean, I’m sorry, but I don’t.”

He floundered, no more words to speak, and in that time she turned and walked away. He felt like his heart was crunching in on itself and crumbling into dust. It was physically painful, like a heart attack, but it wouldn’t ever show up on a scan. He was dying, but it would take his whole life to kill him, because she didn’t love him anymore. Because she would end up with Harry probably, and he was pretty sure he would still be standing in that hallway forever, watching her walk away because he was too late.


	31. My Soul's Sanctuary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HHC, Year 5, Round 5  
> Drabble  
> Prompt: [Event] First kiss  
> Restriction: Cannot use any of the top 20 most mentioned characters in the series.

Hannah sat next to Susan, glancing toward the door every few seconds. Each time it opened, her heart beat faster before falling in disappointment. She didn’t know if he would show up - she hoped he would, but she really had no idea. The meeting seemed about to start, but Hannah wasn’t ready yet.  _ Just give him a few more minutes.  _

 

“Hi everyone -”

 

The door swung open and Michael walked in, apologizing for being late. Behind him, brushing dark curls back from his forehead, was Anthony, a blue tartan scarf tucked into his black coat. Hannah felt like her heart was stuttering. Good lord, he was attractive. She could feel the stupid smile creeping across her face, and she wished it would go away before someone else noticed her foolishness, but she was powerless. 

 

Anthony looked in her direction as he stepped further into the dingy pub. Well, he could have been looking in anyone’s direction she supposed, but she wanted to believe it was hers. And Hannah swore she could see a faint smile play across his lips. He and Michael took their seats only two tables over from where Hannah and Susan sat together, and then the meeting got well and truly underway. Hannah found she had a difficult time paying attention. Her mind seemed insistent on wandering away to concoct various scenarios involving her and Anthony together.

 

Anthony glanced over in her direction and smiled slightly - not a warm smile, but an almost laughing smile - and Hannah quickly looked away, a blush creeping across her skin. Her imagination started to run wild.  _ Anthony holding her hands as they walked through Hogsmeade. Anthony telling her she’s beautiful as they’re nestled in some secluded nook of the castle. Anthony tucking a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. _ Hannah shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She couldn’t let herself run away with thoughts like that - it just wouldn’t do to get her hopes up. She had always been bad about that - thinking that boys were interested in her when really they didn’t spare her a second glance. She didn’t know what to look for, how to know when someone was flirting. It was hopeless.

 

“Are you coming?”

 

Hannah blinked rapidly, taking in the dingy little pub again. The meeting must have ended, because chairs were scraping as people stood, clamoring to the front to sign some little scrap of paper. She stood quickly and smoothed out her skirt, following Susan to the front. The piece of parchment had  _ Dumbledore’s Army  _ written across the top in neat, loopy script, with a list of signatures below. Hannah’s heart leapt when she saw Anthony’s scrawl, and she looked around quickly, hoping she hadn’t completely missed him, but her heart sank. She couldn’t see him anywhere. Turning her attention back to the parchment, she grabbed the quill from Lee and quickly scribbled her name. At least this would give her another excuse to see him.

 

She cared about the war too, and learning how to defend herself properly. Hannah believed everything Harry had ever said about that night in June, about Cedric and... it all just made sense. And she was Muggle-born, so she was acutely aware of the shifting attitudes and the disappearances that had already started. She knew that things would get worse, and Hannah thought that the way they were being taught was awful. So she wasn’t  _ only  _ interested in the club because of Anthony, but it was definitely an added bonus.

 

“Hey, Hannah!” Anthony called as she followed Susan out the door of the Hogs Head, scrambling forward from where he had been leaning against the alley wall.  

 

She whirled around to face him, entirely caught by surprise.

 

“Do you want to grab lunch with me?” he asked, running his fingers through his curls. “I was hoping that I could ask you some questions about Charms. If you don’t mind, I know it’s a weekend and Hogsmeade visit and all so you might not want to -”

 

“Sure!” Hannah burst out, finally managing to speak. “I don’t mind at all, that’d be lovely.”

 

_ Lovely _ ,  _ honestly, who says going over homework is lovely?  _ she cursed herself. Why couldn’t she speak like a normal person around him? What was wrong with her?

 

“Great,” he said, sighing a little in what she hoped was relief.

 

Hannah waved a quick goodbye to Susan as she followed Anthony, and Susan replied with a teasingly arched eyebrow. She and Anthony walked quietly towards the Three Broomsticks, and she began to worry that the entire thing would be painfully silent. She felt the need to say something, but her mind was frustratingly blank of anything that wouldn’t make her want to slam her forehead into the wall in embarrassment. But once they were seated in the pub, it got better. Anthony did most of the talking, asking question after question about Charms, Hannah’s life, her family and a whole host of other topics as they sipped on Butterbeers and split a sticky toffee pudding. When they were finished, Anthony insisted on paying, and Hannah could sense his hand hovering near her lower back as he escorted her out.

 

“I have to admit something,” he said after a few moments of quiet.

 

“Alright?” Hannah prompted, her heart pounding.

 

“I sort of...I was hoping…” he stammered, unsure of what to say. “Well the thing is, I really like you, quite a lot actually.”

 

“You do?” Anthony nodded, and Hannah felt a smile stretch across her face. “I really like you too.”

 

Hannah reached out and laced her fingers through Anthony’s, locking eyes. There was a heartbeat when he just stared at her in awe, and then he leaned forward, cupping her cheek and pressing his lips to hers, and it was the best thrill Hannah could have imagined. Her first kiss and it was Anthony, and suddenly the world didn’t seem so dark. She had him, and that was enough to make the war less scary. It was more than enough.


End file.
